


Diving Deep Into the Night

by ShadowcrestNightingale



Series: Darkwave Chronicles [11]
Category: Cowboy Bebop (Anime)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Bonds, Captivity, Control Issues, Darkness, Desire, Dreams and Nightmares, Dreams vs. Reality, Escape, Experimentation, Fear, Gen, Inner monsters, Lucid Dreaming, Past, Psychological Horror, Psychological Trauma, Recovery, Unethical Experimentation, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, chosen family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:08:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 37
Words: 103,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25427452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowcrestNightingale/pseuds/ShadowcrestNightingale
Summary: Dreams, illusions that bear the power to enthrall and enslave. On a vacation the crew stumble into a world unlike any other, and a man hellbent on diabolical goals. Will they make it out alive, or will fate force them to leave someone behind? Possible psych triggers. L&VThis work inspired another fanfic by Luck_Kazajian 'End of Watch 9/3/2073' in a prequel to this where a detective checks out this diabolical crater, https://archiveofourown.org/works/27354643 Permission was granted for Luck to play in the sandbox.
Relationships: Alisa/Jet Black, Julia/Spike Spiegel
Series: Darkwave Chronicles [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/854244
Comments: 336
Kudos: 47





	1. Session 1

**Author's Note:**

> Don't be fooled by the soft opening, to date this is my darkest plot line yet. My Cowboy Bebop works are all interconnected, it is not essential to read them all, but you will get more of the references and Easter eggs if you do. My works are focused on the feel of canon material and developing the characters past that. The craters mentioned, like Tharsis and Alba, Deseado and Mendel both exist on the surface of Mars and are in fact located in the southern hemisphere fairly close to one another. Thank you Wiki for the coordinates . This one is a psychological thriller, so fair warning there will be some twisted, possible triggery stuff. I will NOT be pulling punches on this, the foe is a real nasty piece of merciless work. This plot has had time to simmer on the back burner. It's been over a half year since I came up with the idea spawned by “Hotel California” and melded with “Enter Sandman”, my sincerest thanks to Luck_Kazajian for listening to my cracked ideas and being a great sounding board as I ironed out the details. Session releases will be less frequent than before, this project will rely on nuances I can't effectively speed write in.

_ **** _

_ **Session 1** _

Desire … not just something one wants, but a need so intense that existing without it amounts to sheer torture. God knows I have forced others to walk those harrowing halls. The most primal being the desire to draw one's next breath.

But … I was what I was. My life had denied me many desires early on, I always found my place among the ashes until I learned to bury desire, to banish it where it could not torment me. Or so I always believed.

The truth, bitter pill that it was to swallow, I've always thought myself far more clever than I actually was. The lasting poison of a treacherous youth. No matter how deep I dig the hole to bury it all, the bell continues to toll—year after year after damnable year! Behind closed eyes no one comprehends the depth of the burden I carry alone. Some think they know … but even a glimpse would find them drowning—like I pretend I'm not … don't look down. Don't look and it holds no power. I squeeze my eyes tighter, sealed behind that protective barrier. Denial, the bitter old partner I have courted at a terrible price.

I stood in the midst of the raging storm, the wind whipping at my trench coat. I've kept my head down as long as I could to keep from peering into the pouring rain. I know what I'll find waiting for me. It's the same every damn time I'm dragged into this private hell. And I am so sick of this shit.

Not again. I know what I have done. I know what my foolish decisions threw away. But above all, I know I can't go back and change the mistakes that haunt me. So what's the God-be-damned point of this repetitious bullshit? I shut my eyes and take a deep breath, summoning up all my strength.

Clenching my fist I concentrated on the howling wind. Calm, calm and tranquil. Stealing its rage, I overpowered it into my submission. The rain fell straight down now. Water, an element that flowed. I opened my hands and drifted my fingers through the droplets, fluid motions in a trained pattern, slow and gentle.

The storm tried to surge.

“No—” I snarled before I caught myself, softening my voice. “Be still. You have already passed years ago. You are already done.”

As my hands passed through the rain it gradually turned to a harmless drizzle.

I dared not open my eyes. I knew it would still all be there waiting for me. Don't even think about it!

Sodden clothing hung on my limbs. My hair matted down over my brow. A true mess of a human being. Still, I could feel the presence all around waiting for me to acknowledge it. My resolve faltered for a moment, letting it well in.

_Failure, traitor, … solitary beast._

“Shut up!” I hold on by a mere thread. Why won't the damn sun set?

“Not doing this. And you can't damn well make me!” This was gonna take a full dedication. I took a shuddering breath and sunk down into a meditative posture, I kept my eyes clenched tight. The words formed into a mantra falling from my lips like an ever increasing patter of rain. “I am alone. I am alone. I am alone.”

I lost track of how many times I spoke it, but that is the way meditation works. Repetition becoming thoughtless second nature, until it becomes … reality.

When at last I ceased, utter silence stretched out, not even the whisper of a breath.

Cracking open my eyes I glanced to the sides before lifting my head. I gazed into a void. Endlessly dark, blessedly vacant.

I collapsed backward with relief. I had won the battle … for now.

Of course, dreams were far easier to control than reality, all it took was willpower.

* * *

Spike opened his eyes to a blurry world bathed in blinding green light and drowned in the thunderous cacophony of insects and bird song. Voices carried on from a distance tinged with laughter. He knew them, part of him felt something … sort of.

Feeling … there was something about that. What was it?

A hard object pressed against the palm of his hand. Spike rolled his head down and had to squint to see what it was. A bottle. Before he knew it, instinct had brought his hand up in a clumsy gesture, his lips were around the mouth of the bottle sucking down the blessed burn he could no longer even taste that would drag him back down to where he desired to be. To the stillness where nothing could reach him.

Back into the oblivion he had prematurely emerged from.

Dark, still, … silent.

* * *

The sunlight cut through the trees casting dappled rays onto a picnic spread out in the clearing. The weather in the Mendel crater nature reserve could not have been more perfect. After the long stint locked in Callus's prison side-show of horrors … and Spike's vengeful antics carried them to Mars, Jet decided it was high time for a little vacation. The forested glade of the park seemed like a good opportunity for a change of scenery and lingering in the warm breeze felt wonderfully refreshing.

Although, now Jet questioned the choice of camping. It had been quite the hike hauling the gear from the _Bebop_ , left docked in the nearby lake. They'd been at the site for hours now, and had yet to get the tent unpacked, let alone up. Faye and Ed … heck, even the mutt, were more interested in eating.

Jet grinned and closed up his sandwich, listening to the girls bickering as he took his first bite.

“Ed, marshmallow fluff and mustard do not belong together.”

Holding the jars up, Ed danced back and forth. “Yes they do. It's yummy.”

“Maybe if you pinch your nose.” Faye closed her own loaded sandwich and turned away as if to protect her precious lunch.

“Ehehe! Ed doesn't pinch her nose. Ed just nom noms it.”

“You are never cooking for us.”

Jet chuckled. “What, you don't like condiments?”

“As a main course? Not hardly. I like my meals with a bit more substance.”

Ed pointed to the pile of wood. “Light a fire. Ed wants toasted mallows!” Of course, she was holding up the jar of fluff.

Faye rolled her eyes. “Just what she needs, sugar.”

“Later.” Still munching on another bite of his sandwich, Jet mumbled around it. “Once the sun goes down I'll get the bag out. You can't toast that. The glops will fall into the fire and burst into flames.”

“Booom! Hehehehe!” She threw her hands in the air, as if proving Faye's point.

Heaving a sigh, Faye remarked, “Fire tending. Yet another duty on Ed's ban list.”

But Ed continued to merrily run around making explosions in the air with Ein yapping at her heels.

Faye sat against a tree and eyed Jet. “Will this place survive her?”

“That's an interesting question. She certainly acts like a wild animal.”

“Ed is wild! RAWR!” Ed leapt out of a tree and tumbled onto the ground dissolving into giggles as Ein licked her into submission. “Stop! Ein … hehehe! Ed is a wild beast and will get you.”

“Well,” Faye grinned, “we're certainly remote enough down here. I don't think anyone would notice if she burned the place to the ground. Oh, hey, speaking of remote places. Isn't Deseado near here?”

Jet raised an eyebrow in thought. “Yeah, to the southwest. Why?”

“I'm kinda curious to see where Spike grew up.”

“Uhh, not so sure that's a good idea. He doesn't exactly speak fondly of it.”

Faye gazed at him over her shoulder. “How about just a flyover, you wouldn't mind, would yah Spike?” Only the bird song and incessant insects answered her. “Spike?” Only now did she realize it had been hours since she had seen him.

At the repeat of his name, Jet started a bit. “Uh oh. I was so busy keeping Ed wrangled.” He stood up and hooded his eyes, casting his gaze into the woods. A fair distance away a figure slumped against the base of a large tree caught his attention. It was definitely Spike. He narrowed his eyes … with a bottle of sake in his hand? Jet inhaled sharply. “Oh shit … what's the date today?”

Faye scratched her head. “Umm … June 27th. Why?”

Blanching, Jet covered his mouth. “I really should have been paying more attention to the dates. I know better than this.”

“What is it?” Faye joined him watching the slow rise and fall of Spike's breathing, clearly in a drunken slumber. Her brow furrowed. “Doesn't he know that we came here to spend some time together? Aren't you going to thrash him for doing that again?”

“Not today.” Jet lowered his head. “It's the day after Spike's birthday.”

She gasped. “No wonder he's upset! We didn't cele—”

“Has he ever celebrated his birthday? Frankly, the only reason I know it is the record on his bounty hunter license.” Jet eyed her. “That's not it. The day after, every year I have known him, he drinks until he passes out. If he wakes up, without a word he'll swallow more sake until he's out again for the whole of the day. It's the only time I've seen with it. Usually his choice is beer or whiskey.”

“Odd. Why would he do this? Wait—every year? Why didn't I know about this?”

“Because the first year you dashed off.” He shook his head, but there was no anger in his tone for her, only a deep concern as he watched Spike stewing in sake. “And after that … I always sent you off on a bounty hunt. The first time it happened after we first teamed up, when I did ask, he gave me that look. You know the one, where if you push it'll be the last thing you do. I backed off and just left him to his own devices the next year when I found him halfway there. I haven't been able to intervene on this … ritual, if that's what this is. He would never explain why, always changing the topic when I tried to get him to.”

“Should we … you know, take that away from him?”

Jet put a hand on her shoulder. “No. Leave him. There is something about this day. Come on. Let's get back to our picnic. We'll keep an eye on him.”

A half hour later a crack of thunder echoed in the crater basin. The crew froze and stared up just in time for the heavens to open up and break loose. They scrambled to grab the scattered gear as the mud began to swallow it. Burdened, Jet started to push them toward the trail, when he remembered. “Shit, Spike!” He dropped what he was carrying, “Faye, get what you can, leave the rest.”

Scrambling through the mire and the bracken, Jet hefted Spike up over his shoulder facing front. All of him was limp, except for the death grip in the neck of the sake bottle. “Yeah, whatever you do don't let go of **that**. Come on, pard, do me a favor and wake up and walk, why don't yah.”

Spike's head hung, lolling around with each hasty footstep. Jet caught up to the girls just as they started down the trail with most of the gear. Ein even carried a few things in his mouth. “Back to the ship for now. Once this passes, we can try again. Only this time we set up the tent first like I suggested.”

They groaned, but continued to slog through the woods. The further they got, the more the storm raged, lightning splitting the prematurely darkened sky. It was mid-morning and yet it looked like dusk. The wind pummeled them and parted the sheets of rain. Ed shouted above the gale, “Look! Shelter!”

Jet squinted, lights shined warmly though the windows of a sprawling building with a tower that stretched up into the treetops. “Seems like a resort or a hotel of some kind.”

“We're a fair way from the ship.”

Readjusting Spike, Jet's shoulder ached. “Looks open, and dry! Let's duck in there until the rain eases.”

“Don't have to convince me.”

Ed dashed to the glass door and tugged it open passing into the welcoming lobby. Ein waddled in and shook off a cascade of countless drops. Faye and Jet paused long enough to glimpse the letters on the door, Somnus. Dripping, they entered the lobby.

Somnus gave a cozy air from the polished desk to the plush chairs waiting to be used by the fireplace stocked with wood. A plaque beside the elevator listed the amenities by floor. Outdoor patio, dining rooms both formal and informal, a pool, a game room, a ball room; this place had everything.

A clerk behind the desk glanced up and adjusted his glasses. “Oh my, look what the storm brought in.”

“Our apologies, we're rather … making a mess.” Jet glanced at Spike passed out over his shoulder and rolled his eyes.

“Oh no.” The clerk smiled warmly. “It's no problem at all. Everything dries eventually. And you all look drenched. Please, come in, you are welcome to sit by the fire. Here, let me liven that up for you.” He opened the door and stirred up the coals into a lively fire. “The name's Lyle, if you need anything.”

Jet laid Spike out on a couch, frowning as even still the bottle remained clutched in his hand. He patting his cheek trying to wake him. Spike barely even moaned. “He's in for a helluva hangover.”

Faye wandered over toward the growing fire, wringing her hair out. “It had been such a pleasant morning, is the weather here always this turbulent?”

Lyle brushed his fingers off and covered the fireplace with the spark screen. “Down in the southern hemisphere the terraforming towers were a little less resilient. They tend to have hiccups on a regular basis. We're used to it.”

“ _This_ is a hiccup?” She cocked her head. “How long will this last?”

“Could be a few hours. Could be a week. There is a reason Mendel is mostly a reserve crater and not a more settled one. But it does make for a charming place to visit. The rain supports a lot of forest growth. That's why I can keep Somnus running. Everyone wants to get away.”

“A week?” Faye glanced to Jet. “Maybe instead if camping we should just get rooms.”

Holding his hands near the fire, Jet shrugged. “Let's see if we dry off before the rain stops. Fair?”

Ed danced before Lyle, “Can Ed roast mallows in the fireplace?”

Lyle pointed to a terracotta jar that held marshmallow skewers in it. “That's what those are for.”

“You have everything here.” Faye watched the man blush.

“Well, we do serve all kinds of clientele here. One never quite knows who will walk in. I'll be right back with some towels.” He passed through a Staff door and left them in the lobby.

Sitting down beside the fireplace Faye savored the heat. “Mmmm, I have to admit. This would be a great place to spend a little downtime. And we can still get out into nature like you planned for little hiking and fishing. Besides, the music is much better than the chaos of birdsong. Don't you think?”

Jet blinked. “Music?” Now that she mentioned it, he noticed the artful patter of the notes. It was rather pleasant. So was the warmth of the crackling fire. The pattern of the flames flickering drew him in. He smiled softly, his head nodding to his chest. They could camp in the middle of nowhere and do all the work themselves, … or they could treat themselves to a stay at a resort and be served. Hrmm … it all felt so welcoming. Maybe a stay would be nice.

* * *

Spike's eyes cracked open. A fire burned low in the fireplace. He lay sprawled on a couch having no clue how he'd gotten here. Rubbing his eyes with his hands, he slowly sat up feeling a bit strange. What the hell was this place?

A man stood over him, smiling through his eyes behind wire rimmed glasses. “Well, good afternoon Mr. Spiegel.”

Spike yawned and stretched, rubbing the back of his neck. “Spike is fine … uhh, who are you?”

He chuckled. “I'm not surprised you don't remember the check in. You were clearly tired, and we didn't want to disturb you. But all arrangements for your stay have been made. In case you had forgotten, my name is Lyle. If you require anything, just ask. I am here to address all your desires.”

“Okkaaaay?” Spike stood up and scratched his side, looking around at the bustling lobby. Families and people of all walks of life mingled. Some waiting for the elevator, others chatting about which place to eat at. “Say, you got a bar in this joint?”

“Certainly. It's attached to the patio. We hold a number of events there, including our nightly karaoke. We have a world class bartender, anything you order will simply be added to your guest bill. We are full service here, Mr. … uh, Spike.”

“Really? I might just take advantage of that.” Spike followed where he pointed. The moment his eyes glanced down the hall, his heart caught in his throat. A familiar figure sauntered through the throng. Ringlets of gold cascaded down her back, the alluring scent of roses lingered in the air.

“It can't be … can it?”


	2. Session 2

_ **Session 2** _

Spike's heart ceased to beat. Engulfed in the heady scent of her rose perfume, he stared into those unmistakable deep sapphire eyes. He'd know that soul anywhere in the universe. The air left his lungs in a single word, “Julia.”

Instantly she laughed into her hand. “You finally woke up.” Her fingers caressed his cheek, sending shivers down his spine.

God, this  ** was  ** real. It had to be real! His hand covered hers as the shock still washed over him.

“Breathe, honey, or you'll pass out. You really were tired out after the flight here. That's why I left you on the couch, you were out cold.” She smiled coyly, edging closer so her breath brushed against his lips. “After all, yesterday was such a long special day.” Her lips closed over his.

He shuddered, by instinct his arms wrapped around her clutching her tight. A warmth spread through his veins as the universe suddenly made every damn thing right. Still, a thought played in the back of his mind, one he could not discard. Coming up for air, he waited for both of them to catch their breaths. “Yesterday?”

Julia ran a hand through his untameable hair, tugging on the knotted strands. “How much did you drink at the table yesterday? I mean, you certainly were relaxed.” Her left hand crossed between them and gripped his left hand, she brought them up and turned their laced fingers back and forth. “Don't tell me you forgot the most important thing we did at the casino.”

Wide-eyed, he stuttered for a moment at the sight. On his ring finger he discovered a golden band. On hers, a fire opal glowed set in a thin gold ring with a plain gold band accompanying it. “We—we're married!”

“Don't tell me you regret it.”

“N—no! Absolutely not.” He took a deep breath and cracked a grin. “Holy shit!” Grasping her tight, he swung her around in a circle. “We're married!”

Julia laid her head back and laughed. The moment he set her down she grabbed the back of his neck and pulled their foreheads together. “I know it was spur of the moment, but that's alright, I don't mind. Who needs the fuss of a big formal affair anyway? What a fabulous way to end the tournament.”

Despite his efforts, Spike's eyes stung, tears blurred his vision as he stared deep into her soul and found kinship, peace, balance. “You are the ultimate prize.”

“There is one thing we didn't get a chance to do last night.” Julia slid her hand down his arm and grabbed his hand tugging him down the hall with a come-hither look. “May I have the first dance with the groom?”

Scrubbing the tears from his now drenched cheeks, Spike nodded as he followed eagerly, his feet already falling into rhythm with the music drifting down the hall. Beneath an awning a live band played an instrumental version of  _ There's Nothing Holding Me Back _ to a half full dance floor on the patio.

A gentle rain fell, rays of afternoon sunlight streaked through the clouds, raindrops shimmered in mid air around them. Julia reached her hand up and cupped the back of his neck. The heady scent of roses invaded his senses as he buried his face in her hair reveling in the warmth of her embrace. Why did he long for this as deeply as a thirst after being trapped in the desert? He took her other hand in his lifting it between them right near their hearts, already swaying with the growing tango rhythm as it picked up. As one they sunk into the flow of the music, their eyes locked in a devouring stare.

Everything around Spike evaporated. His world became one thing, Julia. Their motions flowed in the tango's cycle of give and take. Spike spun Julia like a top before rolling her against his chest, her back to him as he held her with his arms crossed. Julia traced her fingernails along the back of his arched neck raising goosebumps on his skin. And to Spike's surprise, the sensation drew a soft moan from him.

Alive! That was the feeling in this impromptu dance. His heart throbbed in his ears, nearly drowning out the band. They shuddered at each other's touch. Julia leaned back and gazed up at him. Her hands pulled his head down until she could kiss his cheek.

“I love you, Julia. I don't know how you do it, but ...damn, girl, you bring me to life.”

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her heartbeat pattered against his ribs. “And you are the bright star in my world.”

This moment could last for an eternity and Spike would never tire.

The sound of someone clearing their throat stole their attention. Lyle bowed his head. “My apologies for the intrusion.” He held out a long, narrow zippered bag. “Mr. Spie... uhhh Spike, this showed up at the lobby, appeared to have gotten mixed up with another patrons. I assumed you would want to be certain all of them are accounted for before tomorrow night's competition.”

Spike blinked, sure enough there was a tag hanging off the zipper with his name on it as well as something else, a logo with the words  _ Wild Rails Pool Hall _ . Taking the bag, he pulled the zipper down and exposed nearly a dozen pool cues. Made from various types of wood cores, and consisting of several lengths and thicknesses, Spike ran his hand down the well worn finishes oiled by what he assumed were his own fingers. 

Lyle waved a hand. “I trust that means everything is there. Good luck in the trick shot finals, word is you are this year's defending champion.”

_ Trick shot finals?  _ Spike pulled out the shortest cue in the bag, a specialized custom one made to hop the cue ball. As he thought it, it all fell into place.  _ I'm a God-be-damned professional pool shark! _

“Uhh, hey,” he held the bag up, “I'm gonna put this up in our room, ok? Be right back down.”

She grasped his hand and gave it a squeeze. “Don't be too long. I want another round on the dance floor with my husband.”

With the cue-bag's straps over his shoulder Spike wandered down the hall and passed through the lobby. A strange sound caught his attention. It sounded like the impression of an airplane. He slowed his steps trying to tease out the source in the bustling hotel. At last he spied a barefoot gangly teenager in a loose white shirt and tight black shorts seated on the floor in front of a sleek brightly colored laptop. Peering through goggles jacked into a port, orange unruly hair stuck out at angles messier than Spike's, which he found unreal. The sounds were absolutely coming from the teen rocking back forth in the midst of a dive. 

“Crack the code, crack the code. Errrrrr Radical Edward has you! HA!”

Spike scratched his head. “Ok. That's weird.”

* * *

Lights spilled out in high definition behind Ed's goggles. There was nothing like a net dive, especially on her Tomato Mark II. The compact, neon lit computer fired through almost faster than thought itself. There were moments she wondered why it even had a keyboard. Once she had the goggles on and the interface connected, everything was driven by her mind.

And Radical Edward thought circles around the other hackers in the race trying to break into the ISSP files, all on a lark to see who could do it first. Hissing a laugh, she weaved back and forth. “Crack the code, crack the code. Errrrrr Radical Edward has you! HA!”

Like a portal, the door opened and the files spilled out into her goggled field. “Suckers! Ed wins! Ed wins!”

Instantly a thousand curses intruded on the feed. Hackers across the system screamed their rage at her in colorful languages.

She entered her reply. A big smiley delivering a juicy raspberry to block over all of their screens. And Tomato Mark II didn't even so much as slow down from the volume of sends. She still had access to the entire ISSP system, and no one else did. Rubbing her hands together victoriously, she pondered where to start.

Suddenly the goggles lifted from her eyes and the real world materialized. A long wooden stick pressed them up from the nose bridge. Gripping the other end a strange, tall, fuzzy-haired man in a blue suit with his sleeves rolled up to the elbows peered down at her, scratching the side of his face with a finger, “What are you doing?”

Ed went cross-eyed at the chalked end of the stick and pushed it away with one finger. “Ed is a net diver. Ed is very busy. Come back later.”

Before she could put her goggles back down, the strange man continued. “It sounded like you were playing a game. Which one?”

Ed put her hands behind her head and thrust her chin in the air. What would this man know. “Edward was playing a game of chess. Ed made the other net divers pawns and now Ed wins and is the ultimate champion.”

The man cracked a grin. “Sounds like Ed talks a tough game.”

She rocked back and forth, what did Mr. Fuzzyhead know. “Yes, Ed does. Ed backs it up too. Best damn hacker in the whole system! Security is swiss cheese to Ed and Tomato Mark II.” Spreading her hands wide she gave a toothy grin at the super powered computer. “Nothing is safe from Ed!”

“Nothing? Not even say, oh, the government?”

“Easy peasy. Besides,” she put her goggles back on, “Ed is in ISSP network right now.” Who cared about this strange man. He was not data. He was not in the net. Giggling, Ed took in the fresh rain of curses.

“Radical Edward owns you all!”

* * *

Jet pressed the elevator button for the lobby level. A moment later the doors shut. He released his hold on Tommy's collar and adjusted his ISSP issued shoulder bag filled with toys, snacks, and everything else they couldn't leave home without. Tommy toddled over toward the panel and craned up on his tiptoes reaching for the buttons. Jet clicked his tongue. “Oh, no you don't. I already pushed our floor, little man.”

“But Daddy!” Tommy whined, his eyes already puckering with crocodile tears. “I wanna push it!”

“You skipped your nap.” He tugged the toddler back over to his side. “Little boys who skip their naps don't get to have as much fun.”

“Momma!” Tommy ground his pudgy little fist into his eye and turned to tug on Alisa's shirt. “Did you hear Daddy?”

Rocking little Sammy in her arms, Alisa peered inside the bundle at her daughter and hummed softly, trying to coax the fussy baby back to sleep. “I heard him, and I agree. You don't get to go swimming now.”

“But Mooooooooooooooooommmmmmmm!”

Jet crossed his arms and glared down at the boy. The moment he locked eyes with his father, Tommy shut his mouth and sucked on a finger, staring at the floor.

The elevator door opened to the lobby. “Alright, let's go get something to eat.”

Laughing, Tommy threw his arms in the air and ran out the door. Jet leaned over and grabbed his hand. “No you don't, pard.”

“Ohhhh! But I wanna go see the pool.”

Alisa smiled down at him. “That's on a different floor. Besides, we told you no swimming because you skipped your nap.”

He stuck out his lip in a world class pout. It didn't last long, he tugged on Jet's pant leg. “Lookit the doggy!”

Following his son's eager pointing, Jet watched as a tuxedo clad butler brought out a silver tray with a sizzling steak on it. He leaned down and with all the finest manners of serving a high end client, delivered the cut to a corgi. The little dog wriggled his rear end and licked the drool clean from his lips.

“Your meal, Master Ein. Now, after lunch shall I prepare a bath for you?”

Ein sneezed so hard his huge ears flopped forward.

The butler bowed his head. “Understood. No bath. How about a custom pawidcure?”

He lifted a paw into the air.

“Very well. I shall prepare while Master takes his feast. Simply ring the bell if you need anything and I, Clarence Stanier, shall be at your service.” The butler left as the corgi chomped down emitting sounds of pure doggy pleasure as he devoured the steak.

Jet gawked. “How's that. A dog with a private butler. Some people and their spoiled pets.”

“Darling,” Alisa held out the bundled Sammy, “I'll be right back. I need the ladies room.” She kissed him on the cheek and slipped the strap of the diaper bag over his shoulder.

Jet watched her walk off, a quiet panic growing in his eyes as Sammy woke and began to wail. Juggling the bags of childcare stuff and now inconsolable infant, Jet turned in dismay to find Tommy darting of to the table where a teenager sat in front of her computer, goggles on and clearly snubbing a man carrying a pool cue in a blue suit. He looked like he'd just crawled out of bed, crumpled suit and all.

Bouncing Sammy, Jet cooed into her ear. “Shhh, hush, honey. It's alright.” He tried to keep his voice soft, banishing the gruffness as the fussing baby wailed louder. “Damn colic.”

The teenager cracked her knuckles. “Radical Edward owns you all!”

Just beside the teen's elbow, Tommy rocked back and forth on his heels. “Guess what, I have a penis. Do you have a penis?”

Turning beet red Jet tried to get to him, but the moment he shifted Sammy's face bunched up, choking on her sobs. He redoubled his efforts to quiet her but only his wife had the magic touch.  _ Hurry up, Alisa! _

The teenager slowly pulled up the goggles and blinked. “Of course Ed doesn't. Ed is a girl.”

Tommy sucked on a finger, brow wrinkled. “Whatsa girl?”

The blue-suited man clearly overhearing the exchange, folded in half in the midst of a laughing fit, which to Jet's belated terror, gained him Tommy's attention.

The boy waddled over in front of him and looked up at the cue in his hand. “What's that?”

Rubbing the tears from his eyes, he held it up. “A cue.”

“For what?”

“My job.”

“What do you do?”

He offered a broad smile. “I'm a pool shark.”

Tommy wrinkled his nose, cocking his head. “You're not a shark. Don't got fins.”

He chuckled. “Not that kinda shark, and not that kinda pool. I play a game on a table with balls and a stick.”

The boy beamed and danced on his tiptoes. “I got balls and a stick! Wanna see?” He reached down to the button of his shorts.

Throwing caution to the wind, Jet hugged the fussing Sammy in one arm and grabbed Tommy by the collar of his shirt. “Alright! That's enough talking to strangers. And for heaven's sake, how many times do I have to tell you, Tommy, not that topic in public! I wish you'd never asked about it in the first place!”

The pool shark threw his head back and burst into laughter until Jet wasn't sure he could breathe. At last he caught his breath and spoke, still hunched over in the fit. “Have you got your hands full, old man!”

He eyed him over the still wailing infant. “I'm not that old, and I have a name, it's Jet.”

Holding out a hand, he cocked a grin. “Name's Spike. Didn't mean anything by that, it's just that … ” His eyes flicked to the top of Jet's head.

He groaned, unable to spare a hand to cover his head. Why hadn't he thought of wearing a hat? “Yeah, I do have my hands full. But they're worth it … when they behave. Alisa should be along any minute.” His eyes caught the glint of a ring. “Oh, you're a family man too!”

Spike splayed his fingers. “Family? Uhhh, no rugrats yet. Just got married yesterday.”

“Yesterday?”

He glanced to the ceiling. “Apparently anyway. I uhh … well, things have been crazy lately. I guess I pulled the trigger.”

Straightening up, Jet blinked. “You mean you don't remember?” Something seemed familiar about this man, he swear he knew that cheesy grin from somewhere.

Spike narrowed his eyes, studying Jet closer. “Do I kn …. ”

Alisa sauntered up and took Sammy into her arms. She planted a kiss on Jet's cheek. The burly man blushed, his finger still hooked on Tommy's shirt as the toddler twisted around trying to break free with a huge grin on his face.

In Alisa's arms Sammy nestled back to sleep before she looked up. “Who is your friend?”

“Well, I'm not so sure we're friends, we just met? Uhh, Alisa, this is Spike.”

Spike grinned and tossed his pool cue in the air, catching it deftly. “Hey, how's it going?”

She smiled. “We just started our first family vacation. I'd never been to Mars before. You?”

He laughed. “Shit … ” realizing there were kids he looked sideways with a sigh of relief as Tommy hadn't been listening, distracted by that upper class pampered pet. “Sorry. I'm used to a … an older crowd. I was born on Mars. Lived on it my whole life, various places though.” Patting the tag on his cue bag he pointed out, “Out of Alba City most recently.”

“Alba City?” Jet scratched his head. “That's way up in the northern hemisphere. What are you doing down here?”

“Well, not a vacation, that's for sure. I'm actually working.” Spike laughed and saluted with the cue. “Tomorrow night I defend my title in the final round for a trick shot tourney.”

“Exciting.”

Spike pointed, “If you'll excuse me, I was just running these up to our room. Nice to meet you Mr. and Mrs. … uhh … ”

“Black.”

Once more Spike's eyes narrowed before he shook his head and waved. “See you around.”

Jet untangled his finger from Tommy's shirt and picked the boy up onto his shoulders. “You see, that's how a gentleman behaves.”

Tommy pointed, “Daddy look! Camera!”

Sure enough, blocking the corridor toward the elevator a camera crew stood, which forced Spike to wait off to the side, though he didn't look like he'd be willing to wait for long as he glanced over his shoulder back toward the patio.

Two announcers held microphones in front of the camera chattering excitedly. “Good afternoon folks, I'm Derrick Louis.”

“And I'm Veronica McNeil for the annual Reel Around the Sun dancing competition … have we got a treat for you!”

* * *

From down the hallway Faye heard the chatter of the announcers. The overhead lights of the hotel caught and shimmered on her satin sheath dress, a deep metallic gold. She walked with her head held high assaulted by the flash from the sea of cameras. Every news network and publication had a representative here. She displayed her most flattering smile, throwing it over her bare shoulder.

“Ladies and gentlemen, at this year's finals we have the renowned competitive dancer, Ms. Faye Valentine. Not only does she hold the most awards for a female dancer, she holds the record for most wins period.”

“That's right Veronica. And word is that for this top notch round Ms. Valentine has yet to select her partner for the couples round. The competition is ramping up. The men are pulling out all the stops for a chance to dance with the Ballroom Angel.”

There was no denying that. The moment she had woken in her room to a shower of accolades she was aware of the choice she had to make. Flowers, chocolates, jewelry … each bearing notes from one of three men; Fabian Sanchez, Gerald Andrews, Keaton Gardner. She could not dance with all three. That was against the rules.

Looking up their histories, and watching videos of their performances, Faye relished the decision. Such choices! Each had a different style and flare to them. Each one promised some tangent benefit.

Fabian Sanchez was an amazing dancer, he ought to be. He was the son of a famous dancer, and certainly a heartthrob across the solar system. Young and decadently handsome, he had inherited his father's fame and skill. He moved with a purposeful grace of a panther and brought spice to the floor known for improvising. Selecting him would absolutely add an avant garde quality to their performances. He would be a smart choice.

But, there was Gerald Andrews. A crisp dancer, and a smart dresser. While a little older, he was more settled and even keeled after building a fortune of his own. He brought a steady energy to the dance floor. Precise, yet relaxed. With him she would know what she would be getting every single dance. That would score high with the judges looking for consistency.

Keaton Gardner on the other hand was an aristocrat from an established family going back eons. Everything about him screamed tradition. He was poised, well-mannered, and schooled since he could walk in the old-world courtly affairs simply because that was how it was done. With him, on and off the dance floor, Keaton would be the perfect gentleman putting on a fantastic show for the traditionalist judges, and afford her an all access pass to prime status.

All three of the men stood flanking the corridor with their finery on displays, like male birds of paradise they flashed their finest plumage trying to catch Faye's eye as she passed waving her fan idly. She would choose, but not yet. There was still time. And who could choose, really?

“Well Derrick, we know one thing, whoever she chooses will be on the arm of the contest winner. There is no one currently in the competition field that can come close to Faye's talent. They say she was blessed as a child by a fairy, there's no other way for such extraordinary skill.”

“I'd believe it.”

Faye smiled and waved her hand at the camera before turning toward the elevator.

A disheveled man in a blue suit with a narrow bag over his shoulder stood by the door, his finger repeatedly pushing the button.

She cleared her throat and whispered, “You know that doesn't make it come any faster.”

He glanced back at her, half lidded eyes the shade of molten chocolate. “Going my way?”

Faye flicked her fan. “Well, I'm certainly not headed to the basement.”

“So, that's a yes?” Click. Click. Click.

She started, “Of course it is. Would you stop that. You're not a child, are you?”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck and leaving off from pushing the button. “Uh, well, my wife calls me one from time to time. So … maybe?”

Faye caught the glimmer of light on the ring.  _ Well well, it takes all kinds. _

The door opened and the man walked on in front of her, he held out a hand to block the door from closing. Entering the elevator, Faye turned in the opposite corner from him and pushed the button for her floor. Two were lit up. So they weren't on the same floor.

Rumbling as it ascended, the elevator gradually climbed the floors.

He cleared his throat. “Nice dress, by the way.”

She eyed him behind her fan.

“You really fill it out well.”

Faye stiffened, her breath forced out in a harsh unflattering sound. She whipped the fan back and brought it down into his face, knocking him backward against the wall.

“Ouch! Hey!” He rubbed his head. “That was a complement!”

The door opened and Faye strode out onto her floor, eyeing him in a backward glare. “You call that a complement? You're lucky you found someone tolerant enough to marry you.”

The doors closed on his confused expression, he looked like a lost puppy. Faye heaved a sigh of relief. She had a decision to make, she didn't need to be distracted by an uncouth lunkhead. Suddenly her steps halted, she looked back toward the elevator's closed doors.

_Lunkhead? Do I … do I know him?_


	3. Session 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a true jam session complete with karaoke. The song is "The Last of the Real Ones" by Fall Out Boy, which I tripped over quite by accident and couldn't resist working in because of the lyrics. I recommend listening to it during the first scene ... but only if you're not at work or something. ;)

_ **Session 3** _

Starlight sparkled in the clear heavens. Both moons, Phobos and Deimos, hung half lit in the velvet blue, beacons in the vibrant night. At the tables around the patio the crowd packed it in, drinks of all kinds in front of the patrons. It felt like every guest at the hotel gathered in this room as the karaoke machine blared out background music to the various quality of singers. Some undoubtedly able to carry tunes better than others. But this was all in fun.

Spike sat with his back against the bar, leaning on his elbows casually with his whiskey neat off to his right. On the next stool, Julia rested her head on his shoulder and nursed a bottle of beer, beads of condensation dripped down the amber sides. Her finger tapped the glass to the rhythm of a singer doing a halfway decent version of Lady Gaga's  _ Pokerface, _ complete with dance moves.

Out on the dance floor, Faye had changed into high cut dance shorts and a brightly colored shirt. This was not a formal affair and she wanted to be able to cut loose. Out of the corner of her eyes she savored the lingering flock of admirers, she was never alone. A true icon, the cameras sought her out in a glittering array of shots. Faye played into their lenses loving every minute of it all. Her place in the spotlight, she belonged in a world of earned fame. There, like moths before a flame, lingered the three men vying for her attention. Fabian's exotic flare burned in the dance floor's light. Keaton, a short distance away made a valiant attempt to fit the traditional style with the old world pop song. Gerald kept flashing glances at Faye to see if she was watching his moves. She watched all three of them secretly. It was charming to be so … desired.

Jet and Alisa sat at a high table. Alisa leaned back against Jet holding Sammy in her lap. The infant's eyes reflected the colorful spotlights strobing to the music. Sammy wriggled her arms and legs to the beat grinning and cooing in utter fascination. Around the table Tommy danced, chanting at the top of his lungs, “Po-po-po ...” missing the rest of the lyrics, this one syllable was all he cared about. He shook his rear and waved his hands in the air, a toddler's mimicry of twerking and dabbing.

Alisa kissed Jet's cheek. “You should go up there next.”

“Me?” He flapped a hand. “Oh come on. You know, I couldn't carry a tune in a bucket. Nah, I'm having a great time just listening. Especially to our kids. I dunno, we might have a couple of singers.” He held out a hand and Sammy grabbed his finger babbling melodically.

“Po-po-po!” Tommy threw his head back.

In the middle of the dance floor, Ed moved like a wet noodle whipping around in the most unreal of maneuvers, like some kind of a punk ballerina. She threw herself with great abandon, just shy of swinging from the overhead trellis.

At a table, Ein sat in the candlelight with a massive steak smothered in mushroom sauce. Paws hugging his personalized dish, he devoured his meal while his private butler lingered at his side. “Sparkling water, Master Ein?”

The little corgi stopped for a moment, licked his lips and cocked his head toward a second dish. Stanier cracked the seal and poured the fizzing drink in, topping it with a cocktail umbrella. “Woof.” Ein lapped up the bubbles, sneezing at the effervescence ticking his nose.

Julia nuzzled beneath Spike's chin, the stars sparkling in her eyes. “What a wonderful night. I don't think this could get any better.”

His chest rumbled, “Oh really? I know it can.” Gently he settled her fully on her stool and held up a finger. “Just wait.” Spike dropped off his stool, swallowed the last gulp of his whiskey and winked at her as he went up to the karaoke machine and made a selection. The previous performer handed the mic to him.

Tugging the knot of his tie down further, the collar of his shirt fell open wider, casual as ever. With his head bowed beneath the overhead lights, his eyes were cast in full shadow. The moment the tittering of the piano accompaniment started, he tapped his foot to the rhythm, the start of  _ The Last of the Real Ones _ . 

Spike lifted the microphone gripped in his left hand. The strobes caught the ring on his finger, gleaming and flawless. Slowly, as he sang the verse, he raised his gaze drifting it toward Julia.

“ _I was just an only child of the universe  
And then I found you  
And then I found you”_

He held his hand up swirling his finger in a mockery of the Milky Way.

_  
“You are the sun and I am just the planets  
Spinning around you  
Spinning around you”_

Topping out his range, Spike tucked his chin to shorten his vocal chords so he could reach the notes, but his eyes never left her, staring through the tendrils of his hair. A sly grin played on his face.

_  
“You were too good to be true  
Gold plated  
But what's inside you  
But what's inside you”_

Leaving the stage he came before her. Her eyes widened as she craned her head back, a blush rising to her cheeks.

_  
“I know this whole damn city thinks it needs you”_

Crouching down he took her hand, lacing their fingers together. A shudder ran through them both, electricity unbound.

_  
“But not as much as I do  
As much as I do, yeah”_

Leaping back to his feet, he thrust a finger toward her and ground into the lyrics.

“ _'Cause you're the last of a dying breed  
Write our names in the wet concrete  
I wonder if your therapist knows everything about me  
I'm here in search of your glory  
There's been a million before me”_

Spike turned as if to leave.

_  
“That ultra-kind of love  
You never walk away from”_

He grabbed her hand and dragged her up unto the stage to face him. His right wrist resting on her shoulder as he stared into her eyes. They danced together to the driving beat of the song. Julia lit up on the stage, shining just as brightly beside him.

_  
“You're just the last of the real ones  
You're just the last of the real ones  
You're just the last of the real ones  
You're just the last of the real ones  
You're just the last of the real ones”_

Backing up, Spike circled her slowly, savoring the lyrics as he caressed her arm triggering a fresh wave of goosebumps.

“ _I am a collapsing star with tunnel vision  
But only for you  
But only for you”_

He gripped his head in a mockery of the screwdriver, sticking his tongue out as Julia laughed.

_  
“My head is stripped just like a screw that's been tightened too many times  
When I think of you  
When I think of you”_

Sliding his arm around her, he held her shivering body close. She leaned back into him, smiling as he caressed her collar bone.

_  
“I will shield you from the waves  
If they find you  
I will protect you  
I will protect you  
Just tell me, tell me, tell me, I  
I am the only one”_

Spike held a fist out in front him, his eyes trembling.

_  
“Even if it's not true  
Even if it's not true, yeah”_

Throwing his head back he belted the chorus, dancing with Julia as her eyes reflected the colorful strobes.

“ _'Cause you're the last of a dying breed  
Write our names in the wet concrete  
I wonder if your therapist knows everything about me  
I'm here in search of your glory  
There's been a million before me  
That ultra-kind of love  
You never walk away from  
You're just the last of the real ones  
You're just the last of the real ones  
You're just the last of the real ones  
You're just the last of the real ones  
You're just the last of the real ones”_

Spike froze in the middle of the stage, his fingers toyed with the ring on his finger.

“ _I'm here at the beginning of the end  
Oh, the end of infinity with you”_

He reached out and took Julia's hand, pressing left to left palms together, the rings shining in the light. Her eyes trembled as they locked gazes.

_  
“I'm here at the beginning of the end  
Oh, the end of infinity with you”_

Smiling, he pressed his forehead to hers, and sang with utter conviction.

_  
“I'm done with having dreams  
The thing that I believe  
Oh, you drain all the fear from me”_

His hand caressed her jawline, calloused fingers on her soft skin.

_  
“I'm done with having dreams  
The thing that I believe  
You drain the fear from me”_

Taking Julia in his arm, he spun with her, belting out the final chorus.

“ _'Cause you're the last of a dying breed  
Write our names in the wet concrete  
I wonder if your therapist knows everything about me  
I'm here in search of your glory  
There's been a million before me  
That ultra-kind of love  
You never walk away from  
You're just the last of the real ones  
You're just the last of the real ones  
You're just the last of the real ones  
You're just the last of the real ones  
You're just the last of the real ones”_

His soft brown eyes stared deep into hers, trembling with intensity as he held her in his even gaze. Leaning into her, he kissed her long and full on the lips. His hand loosened the grip on the mic, releasing it to a thump on the stage.

Jet rested his head in Alisa's hair and smiled. “Ah, young love.”

Tommy hopped up and down shouting, “Kissy kissy!”

* * *

“I hope I didn't embarrass you too much.” Spike lay on his side beneath the luxurious covers. His head rested against the palm of his right hand, elbow cocked against the pillow. He couldn't have been more relaxed.

Julia held up her nightgown as she climbed into bed beside him. Settling in, she nestled close, tracing a finger over Spike's bare chest, her foot toyed with the hem of his sweatpants beneath the covers. That earned her a grin. She leaned forward and kissed him, long and full on the lips watching as he closed his eyes only opening them again when she withdrew. “Of course not. I had a great time, even if I wasn't expecting to be dragged up on the stage. Now everyone in the hotel knows.”

“That I have the greatest treasure in the solar system.” The skin around his eyes wrinkled as he smiled into them. “I bet they are all seething with jealousy.”

She laughed, her golden hair cascaded down to brush against his chest as she leaned into him. He rolled onto his back and held her close.

“You know by treasure … I mean your love. There is no price, not enough woolongs in existence to equal it.” His fingers toyed with the strands, weaving around it in a pattern. Each breath grew slower, deeper as he inhaled her perfume.

“My love, you should get some rest before the tournament tomorrow.”

“Rest … ” he yawned. “Ahh, I'll sleep when … I'm dead.” But his eyes were already closing. The rhythm of his breathing dropped down into a deep slumber.

Julia waited until she was certain. Then, slowly, she pushed up. Backing away to the edge of the bed, her hands clutched before her as she watched the rise and fall of his chest. The blissful smile on his face gutted her like a knife. Her own smile faded.

The shadows shifted, a glint of light off glasses. Her head whipped up.

Lyle edged out of the darkness, soundless as the shade itself. He reached up and removed his glasses. The silhouette changed as he tucked them away in a pocket. Gone was the mild mannered desk attendant uniform worn by the mousy man. In his place stood a brooding man garbed in dark robes, an ornamental locket on a chain around his neck. He cracked a savage grin, flashing an eyetooth at her. “You are doing well. I have given you everything you need. This task is so utterly simple, all you have to do is keep him content.”

Rising up from the bed, she took a few steps back as he closed the distance. “Please.” She clutched her hands in front of her. “Don't do this, Morpheus. This is … ”

His hand reached out and caressed her cheek. The illusion faded. The golden cascade tarnished to dusky brown. Her eyes closed on blue and opened to a brown iris so dark it was nearly black. Everything about her changed as her voice rose to its higher natural pitch. “I can't … ”

“Oh Colitas, but you can.” He trapped her against the wall, staring down into her quailing eyes. “I know you can and you will, if you know what is good for you.”

Colitas swallowed, tears welling and threatening to spill. “What you are doing to him … he loves her, deeply.”

“I know he does. Your task is made all the simpler because he truly wants to believe this with every fiber of his being. His desire for this dream is fueling the illusion for you, pushing him deeper into the embrace.”

“This is cruel!”

Laughing softly, Morpheus traced a finger down her jaw and back up the side of her neck. His icy eyes studied her every move. “Cruel? How can you call what I did cruel? I have removed the cancer that was the syndicate from his life. The worst crime he committed now was hustling fools at the pool rails out of their money who had no business challenging a child in the first place. Yes, I left his harsh childhood in tact, but he rose from it and surpassed that asshole, Joe. Spike built himself into the truly carefree soul he is now, playful with all his boyish charm still intact. I have given him access to his greatest regret—never having a full relationship with the woman he loved. He is truly happy. That is cruel?”

Colitas closed her eyes, a tear trailing down her cheek. “Yes … because you won't let him keep it.”

“What is that old saying, better to have loved than lost?”

“Morpheus. Don't do this. Toying with hearts is … ”

He gripped her shoulder and the smile intensified. “Is the surest way to control a human being.”

Her trembling gaze fell to the floor.

“And you know that well, don't you, my sweet Colitas. The enslaving power of a broken heart.” His hand drifted up to touch her tropical floral hair clip.

She flinched, her hands covered her face as she swallowed a growing sob. “I beg of you … ”

Grasping the lace collar of her nightgown he pulled her close, forcing her wide eyes to meet his. “Somnus is **my** kingdom. You will play the roll I have given you, or I will find someone else more than willing. You know there are droves waiting for a chance of release. Do not try my patience.”

There was no volume as she breathed out the words, “Yes master.” Her eyes glanced to the side, the cozy hotel room had faded with his anger. Wallpaper became cinder block walls tattered with sickly off-teal paint pealing, floor tiles shattered and crumbling beneath her bare feet. Dry rotted shelves bowed and dumped their dusty remains. Spike no longer lay tucked in a luxurious bed, if only he could see that he was sprawled on a breaking down table. Her eyes drifted toward another wall with a window, a shadow locked hallway on the other side of the pane.

Catching her Morpheus gripped her chin and roughly forced her to meet his fierce gaze. “Keep him enthralled! You know how long this takes and it's far easier with the bait of dreams. Unless you really want to press me to use the other method.”

She tried to shake her head, but his grip was too firm, nails digging into her skin.

Loosening his hold, he smoothed out her tussled hair and whispered, “That's the spirit, Colitas.” Morpheus snapped his fingers and vanished.

Colitas stared at the sound asleep Spike as the illusion resettled into the cozy hotel room. So peaceful, the picture of contentment. Rivulets of tears spilled down her cheeks, the false wedding ring pressed against her flesh. She sank down onto the floor, burying her face into her hands.

The clock on the nightstand advanced another minute.


	4. Session 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is another song in this chapter, "Young Volcanoes" by Fall Out Boys. Take a listen if you aren't familiar with it. I promise, that's the end of that for this fic ... ;)

_ **Session 4** _

“Greetings from the Galactic Trick Shot Championship finals. This is John Tiki broadcasting from Mar's Somnus resort where we are joined by the absolute slickest shooters in the system.” John wandered through the smoke wreathed pool hall, tailed by his camera team. “And do we have a trio to contend with this year.”

The camera turned to a grizzled man in a fitted vest leaning over a table and lining up a shot with a cigar in his mouth. “Michael Cassey, the legacy from Europa. He's the son of a long line of champions that boasts a steady hand and a keen eye. He's ranked in the top five for the last decade.”

Sweeping to the next table, the camera focused on a woman with her hair bound high on top of her head and chalk already on her fingers. “Ewa Flourance, the Ganymede shark who studied under many legends picking up skills wherever she could to combine them to her unique style. She has ranked within the top three for the last decade. In fact she came into last year's championship as the returning winner, only to be dethroned by last year's champion.”

Now the camera turned to the final warm-up table where the lanky shark hopped a ball backward into his waiting hand. “Last years dark horse champion, Spike Spiegel, who climbed out of a slum crater on mars to become the owner of Wild Rails Pool Hall in Alba City where on a lucky night folks not only get see him play, but he also teaches some of the skills. When I caught him earlier for a few words concerning his instruction, here's what the champ had to say.”

Spike appeared on the broadcast, leaning idly on a cue, a cigarette drifting smoke as his eyes half lidded the camera. “Why would I keep it myself? Fact remains I never would have risen out of the gutter without learning these skills, and frankly I more or less taught myself. Grew up around a lot of hopeless gutter rats like myself. Only through learning the fine arts of this sport was I able to escape my lot. So, if sharing a bit of the skill is enough to change a kid's future? Well, great.”

“This year's competition is shaping up to be utterly amazing. All three competitors have brought their best tricks.”

Standing side by side the three eyed one another, each with their own variant on the cocky grin.

John continued. “This is an all-out, no holds barred, shoot out. To set up their shots there are no limits to what they are allowed to use, save nothing that can explode or catch on fire. This room is about to become their playground. One shot to end it all. The competitors drew their lots earlier for the order. Cassey, Flourance, and Spiegel. Let's get this started.”

Cassey tossed his cue in the air and grabbed it. “No snot nosed little boy is gonna beat me.”

As he walked toward the bar already signaling the keep for a refill of his whiskey neat, Spike eyed Cassey. “Twice.”

“Eh? What was that?”

“Beat you twice, since I already did last year.”

Cassey tightened his fist turning red as the three ball.

“Good luck.” Spike grinned wickedly as he leaned on the bar, nursing his whiskey in a relaxed hand. Aside from the competitors, the judge, the barkeep, and the camera crew; no one else was allowed in the room. A good thing about that too, considering hopping balls between tables was entirely legal. But there was a monitor broadcasting to the patio where most of the hotel guests were gathered. Spike smiled to himself, Julia would be watching there.

With a cigar clenched in the corner of his mouth, Cassey grabbed three empty shot glasses from the bar and set one in the center of each table. On top of each glass he balanced a ball. Then he carefully arranged via a measuring tape and protractor the angles of several other balls, until a full set of balls had been spread between the tables.

“Alright. Let's see how you handle this.” Cassey rolled the cue ball and set it at a careful angle a short distance from the first ball he intended to strike. “End result, all three tables cleared!”

He drew the cue back and struck hard! The cue ball smacked a direct hit on the shot glass, dropping the top ball down to hit the cue ball and launch it onto the next table in to the next glass. In its wake, the balls on the first table collided in a chain reaction drove for the pockets. On the second table the balanced ball dropped and launched again, having lost some momentum, but it was enough to roll onto the table strike a strategically placed ball with enough force to tip the last glass and drop the final ball. In a clatter, the last few balls dropped into the pockets leaving only the cue ball rolling to a stop in the middle of the table.

Cassey tossed his cue in the air and snatched it with a firm grin as he took a victory lap around the three tables. “And that is an award winning shot.”

Spike lit a fresh cigarette and leaned back on his elbow.

“Hey, aren't you nervous, slum-boy?”

Lazily, Spike pulled the cigarette from his mouth and blew out a cloud of smoke. He did nothing more for a reply.

“Tsh.” Cassey stormed to the bar. “There's nothing you can do that can top that.”

“We'll see.” He remarked before taking a sip of the whiskey.

Ewa Flourance cleared the shot glasses out of her way and grabbed a couple of pool cues setting them as a bridge between two tables the perfect distance apart for a ball. She borrowed a small stack of beer glasses to brace the ends so they wouldn't roll. Not just one bridge, but two, connecting all three tables. Then she pulled triplets out of the pockets and set them up, calling each ball to a certain pocket on each table. She scattered the remaining balls on the table.

“End goal. Called shots, no rogues, no touches.” Drawing her cue back she struck the cue ball and it collided with the first triplet sending the called ball up in a hop onto the bridge. In a cascade the momentum carried it over onto the middle table and where it dropped with more energy to slam into the second triplet. The next called ball launched onto the second bridge and rode it to the end, dropping into the final triplet and buried the final targets.

True to her word not a single uncalled ball had been so much as touched.

She held up her cue to the camera and flashed a smile. “Queen of the Called Shot!” As she made her way back toward the bar she grinned at Spike. “Your turn, Slim.”

Not in any rush, Spike swallowed the last of his whiskey and meandered to the end of the bar plucking a dart from the dartboard. Cassey and Flourance's brows creased in confusion. Spike glanced at the camera. “Might want to take a quick break. This will take a bit to set up.” He returned to his task and idly hummed as he went about grabbing random items from around the room and set them up in full Rube Goldberg style on all three tables spreading well beyond them to very the edges of the room. With the colored balls it almost looked like he was scattering Easter eggs around the room for a hunt. At one point he wandered back to the bar and edged the two competitors further apart. “Ermm, a little more to the left … there. Don't move.”

Cassey blinked and scratched his head.

A moment later, right by Cassey's elbow, Spike placed a playing card on top of his own finished whiskey glass and balanced the eight ball on it. The final step was dropping the dart point up in an empty shot glass beside the whiskey with a playing card wedged into the grip.

Spike stretched and cracked his neck. “Alright, one strike to the cue ball. Then, every colored ball striking in order, solids to stripes with the tradition of the eight ball last.”

Flourance followed the scattered chaos. “Uhh, what's this shot called?”

He took a long drag through his cigarette, lining up the first shot he shut one eye, the one ball closer to him than the cue ball. “I call this one—Bullseye!”

The strike sent the ball against the far rail diamond, hitting at an angle. The momentum carried it back into the one, starting the chain reaction. There were no 'cue bridges' connecting the tables. Instead Spike had rigged a number of glasses to catapult the balls across the gaps. All eyes followed as the entire room suddenly sprang to life with first solid balls leaping from table to table until the seven launched up into the overheard light fixture via a counterweight. It struck the metal brace and rattled off toward the narrow shelf lining the wall of the room.

Spike leaned back, the cue behind his neck, his wrists hanging over it as he watched the controlled chaos through the haze of his cigarette smoke. “By the way, that bit took me a solid week to work out, and quite a few busted light fixtures.”

Flourance gawked.

“What? I got bored easily as a kid. It passed the time.”

The balls continued on their cascade, instead of losing momentum, they gained it by utilizing gravity and weights. The stripes flew like acrobats through the pool room until the fifteen ball soared through the air, ricocheting off the bar support and dropping straight down onto the card balancing the eight ball.

The black ball toppled forward, driving down onto the far side of the card jammed into the dart—inches from Cassey's elbow!

The dart shot on an arc through the air landing with a  _ thwuck _ dead center of the dartboard.

Jaws hung loose as Spike cocked his finger like a gun. “Bullseye.”

A moment later the sound of the judge's body hitting the floor turned everyone's heads.

Spike stepped closer. “Phew! No rogue balls. For a minute there I thought I might have actually nailed the judge.”

* * *

Tommy sat at the table enthralled by the broadcast and following the pathway of the ballistic balls. His tiny feet were at the edge of the chair. Beside him Jet also remained glued to the strange game. He was used to traditional pool where the balls stayed on the table. But this was impressive! Especially this last guy, what was his name, they'd met earlier?

The whole patio crowd stared in silent shock as the dart nailed the central target. No one spoke.

Tommy's whisper carried out. “Whoa! Daddy I wanna be a sharky too!”

On the screen the man cocked his fingers like a gun, _“Bullseye!”_

Jet's eyes narrowed. The man's name came to him. Spike. It felt like he had shouted that name over a dozen times for countless reasons. Like he had spent a lot of time with him. But that couldn't be true. Spike lived on Mars, and in the whole of Jet's life he could count on one hand the number of months he had spent on this planet. Deja vu? It had to be some weird deja vu feeling. Did he know someone like him?

In the meantime, the patio exploded into a roar of applause. Jet came back to reality as Tommy clambered all over him, giggling and tugging on his shirt. “Sharky sharky! Gonna be a sharky!”

“Uhh, no. We're not going to hang out at pool halls. There's a lot of smoking and drinking that goes on in those.”

A voice broke out over his shoulder, “Oh yeah? What's wrong with that?”

Tommy reached up and waved an enthusiastic hand. “Shark!”

Spike offered a confident grin, his bag over his shoulder, but his cue still in his hand. On his lapel a pin that hadn't been there before, an eight ball with a banner wrapped around it sporting the word Champion.

“He's a toddler.” Jet wrangled the squirming limbs of his son as he tried to climb over to the looming pool shark. “Smoking and drinking is a bad influence.”

Spike lit a cigarette while eyeing him and grinned. “Ehh, it builds character. I grew up around it, and just look at me.”

Tommy put his fingers like a gun and shouted, “Bullseye!”

“Ugggh!” Jet rolled his eyes.

Spike laughed and high fived Tommy. “Nice one, kid.”

“Daddy? I wanna do that to my room, make balls go rollin' everywhere.”

Scratching his temple, Spike eyed the ceiling. “Well, that is how I learned, wasn't my room technically, but it was the pool hall where I lived more or less.”

Jet pushed his son down into the chair and shook is head. “Absolutely not. Your mother would have a conniption fit!”

Cassey and Flourance wandered in and eyed Spike. “Speaking of conniption fits.” Spike murmured after spying the fire in their eyes.

Cassey thrust a finger at Spike. “Cheater!”

“Check the definition. I didn't cheat.”

Heat rose to his cheeks. “You did!”

“How?”

“That … that travesty in their!”

Spike hooded his eyes. “The rules said we could use the whole room so … I used the whole room.”

“The three tables!”

“Did the judge disqualify me?” He tugged on the lapel pin as Cassey's anger flared. “Here's your answer. Just cause you didn't spend countless hours sorting out how to pull off half that stuff isn't my fault. Next time, go big, or go home!”

Beside the music box, Julia leaned with a smile on her face and a victory kiss waiting on her lips. The moment he closed the distance, they embraced to the cooing of the crowd.

Coming up for air, Spike eyed the karaoke music box and pushed through to a selection. “This is a celebration, it's time to kick it into high gear! What do you say, Julia? Wanna dance?”

“Always.” She smiled and tossed her hair.

Bellied up to the bar, Faye glanced over her shoulder and narrowed her eyes as Spike threw his arms wide and sang out to the gathered crowd.

“ _When Rome's in ruin,  
We are the lions free of the Colosseum  
In poisoned places, we are anti-venom  
We are the beginning of the end”_

He pounced toward Julia in a mock chase as she laughed and played along.

“ _Tonight, the foxes hunt the hounds  
It's all over now  
Before it has begun  
We've already won”_

Raising his cue into the air in victorious abandon, he belted out,

“ _We are wild  
We are like young volcanoes  
We are wild  
Americana, exotica  
Do you wanna feel a little beautiful, baby?”_

Winking at Julia, he pointed to his chest with a thumb and grinned.

“ _Come on, make it easy, say I never mattered”_

Taking his cue, he held a cloth napkin like a white flag.

_  
“Run it up the flag pole,”_

Grinning like a fool, he leaned into her until she pushed him backward as he let the lyrics mock his own childhood.

_  
“We will teach you how to make boys next door out of assholes”_

They laughed carefree and circled one another.

“ _Tonight, the foxes hunt the hounds  
And it's all over now  
Before it has begun  
We've already won_

“ _We are wild  
We are like young volcanoes  
We are wild  
Americana, exotica  
Do you wanna feel a little beautiful, baby?”_

But this time as Spike threw his hand back in the chorus, others joined him in the wild dancing foray. Jet bounced Tommy on his shoulders. Ed discarded her goggles and joined in a conga line forming through the whole place. Faye danced closer to Spike, ignoring her three man entourage, drawn to his wild energy. He snuck a glance her way, his brow wrinkling in a moment of deja vu before he threw his hands in the air.

“ _We are wild  
We are like young volcanoes  
We are wild  
Americana, exotica  
Do you wanna feel a little beautiful, baby?”_

There was a full blown party breaking out in the patio as the liquor flowed and the music played. Caught up the energy thoughts of vaguely knowing one another faded even as Spike took Faye's hand and spun her. She laughed, full out ignoring the burning glare of her would be dancers.

At the back of the patio, Cassey and Flourance sat stewing. Until Lyle gestured to them from around the corner. The pair wandered over. Lyle nodded. “Well done, both of you.”

Cassey folded his arms. “I hope you'll remember this.”

Lyle adjusted his glasses. “Don't push it.”

Stepping a bit closer, Flourance held up a silencing hand to Cassey. “What I think he may mean is that perhaps our rolls could continue a bit longer, as a reward for a job well done?”

He tapped his chin. “I'll consider it.”

“Thank—”

In the snap of his fingers the pair vanished without a trace. “I thought about it. No.” Brushing his hands off, he averted his eyes. “No one tells me what to do. Once they start getting ideas, things get more difficult. I have enough to juggle without upstarts. Besides, _Cassey_ hardly brought his A game. It'll be a while before I use him again. But that's besides the point.”

From the shadow of the corner a smile grew on his face as he watched _Julia_ slow dancing with Spike, their eyes locked deep in a captive stare. The perfect image of true love.

“At least someone is bringing her A game. I may have underestimated Colitas's drive. Which means I may have a new little star in the show.”


	5. Session 5

_ **Session 5** _

Spike stirred beneath the covers. Too lazy to open his eyes, his hand blindly searched between the sheets. A broad smile displayed on his sleeping face. Sweeping the hand a bit swifter, his eyelids loosened until they cracked open, fixed on the empty pillow beside him complete with a divot where someone was supposed to be. Not only that, but the mattress was cold.

“Mmph?” He rolled over, searching the cozy hotel room.

With the lights off the room was nearly dark, only the shaft of moonlight through the split in the curtains. That shaft fell on Julia's shoulder. She sat on the floor in the corner, facing the wall. A quiet sob escaped her.

Sitting bolt upright, Spike was instantly awake. “Julia … what's the matter?”

She stiffened. Her head rising ever so slightly lifting the cascade of soft curls. Even upset she was beautiful to his eyes. “Spike I … ” her voice was so tight it barely made it out of her throat before she rested her forehead back on her folded arms.

Throwing the covers back, Spike climbed out of bed and padded across the floor. “Hey,” he rested a hand on her shoulder, so warm, “it's ok, whatever is wrong, we can figure it out.”

She was shivering, but the room wasn't even cold. “I … ” her head shook back and forth. Slowly she lifted it, the curls falling from blocking her face. Tears coursed down her flushed cheeks. “I can't do this anymore.”

For a split second, Spike's heart ceased to beat. Was she intent on leaving him? No! That couldn't be! Then, in the blink of an eye he stared at a complete stranger. Julia faded away to be replaced by a woman of darker tone, brunette hair held back by a floral pin, eyes so dark brown the irises were nearly lost in to the pupils. And her voice …

“I can't lie to you any longer.” … that was **not** Julia!

Spike's burning lungs reminded him he was forgetting to breath. His hand withdrew, sharply. Edging back onto his feet, he staggered as his wider gaze took in the room. What he had known as a well kept hotel room dissolved. Cinder block walls with pealing paint, rotted wooden shelves, the window didn't have any moonlight … on the other side just another cinder block room. The scent of rose perfume vanished in one breath, replaced by the foul wreak of a long abandoned building. Still retreating from the stranger, Spike tumbled backward over the bed, coming down hard on his shoulders.

Reeling from the rough landing, he stared up to find what he'd taken as a hotel bed was a cold steel examine table, as decrepit as the rest of this place. His breathing came in rapid gasps as he realized he was in the carcass of an old building.

“What the—fuck!”

The stranger came around the table and held out her hands in a gesture meaning no threat. “I'm sorry. Please understand, _I_ never wanted to hurt you. I had no choice. But I can't do this anymore, I can't pretend.”

“Pretend?” Spike scrambled, his back up against the windowed wall. “What the hell would make you do something … shit! How could you do this? This was all fake? You're not … you're not her!” It all came crashing down like a tsunami. Spike grabbed his hair and screamed incoherently. Nothing could contain the pain in his chest. Nothing in the whole of the universe! Every atom bursting simultaneously in his being could not have hurt worse as he curled into a raging ball accompanied only by the sound of his shattering heart.

When he opened his eyes he expected to be back on the _Bebop_ collapsed on the couch, or even passed out in his room. Hadn't he been drinking somewhere off the ship? It had been _that_ day. Maybe Jet had carried him back. A liquor induced nightmare would be logical. Most of the time the alcohol burned the nightmares from his mind, but occasionally it could backfire and make things worse. Was that all this was?

The musty smell continued unabated. The debris beneath his shoes remained, blurred by the tears in his eye … but the synthetic eye … his fingers touched the right cheek. Bone dry. Vaguely he remembered both eyes tearing up. Everything mingled in a slurry of half-formed memories. He had held her, danced with her, slept beside her … married … her.

Spreading his hand before his eyes, his breath hitched. The fingers on his left hand were naked.

She knelt before him, placing her palm to his. Sorrow in her eyes as her own tears fell freely. “I know this is painfully confusing. Please, you don't understand how sorry I am.”

“Sorry?” His voice was a hoarse whisper. “You have **no** idea what you have done.”

Her finger brushed the petals of the hair clip, a deep blush sprang to her cheeks. “I know precisely … which is why I can't continue lying to you.”

Recovering a fraction of his rattled wits, Spike swallowed, their palms still pressed against one another. She was still trembling. “Who … who are you really?”

“My name is Colitas. And I don't want you to end up like me.”

Spike cocked an eyebrow. “Okkkaaaay, that was cryptic.”

Sitting back, she folded her arms across her knees. “I don't understand what's happened entirely, but this is what I do know. My fiance and I had everything planned.” Her eyes shifted to the floor. “It wasn't his fault what happened … he'd been in a terrible car accident. The other driver at fault. The coma stretched on and on. Hope he would wake up dwindled. It was the day we were going to be married and I just … I just … ” fingers caressed the floral hair clip as a melancholy smile grew, “I couldn't be in that hospital room. So I came out to this nature reserve to get away … ”

Colitas closed her eyes and raised her face to the ceiling. “I found a dream waiting for me behind the doors of Somnus. I awoke to find Lyle behind the desk, hanging up the phone. A minute later the elevator door opened and … he was there! My fiance,” tears ran down her cheeks from her closed eyes, “was there walking toward me with open arms. We … we had the honeymoon of a lifetime.”

When she opened her trembling eyes, Spike saw what he had felt echoed there. The gut punch of reality shattering.

“I didn't realize it in time.” She buried her face in her hands. “The manipulation. Somehow _he_ had known everything. I never questioned it for a heartbeat because … my heart **wanted** to believe it. I've been trapped here ever since.”

Spike swallowed his own pain and reached over, setting a hand on her shoulder. “Don't blame yourself. I've seen some odd shit in my life,” the time where the crew of the _Bebop_ nearly got sucked into some comatose hacker kid's coma-cult came to mind, “but this … this illusion takes the cake. This was top notch brain-fuck-over work.”

“In case it isn't obvious, Morpheus is a sadist. You've only seen his gentle side, when he lures with what the heart longs for most.” She dropped her hands into her lap. “Now that the illusion is broken, he can't use your desires against you again. He'll switch tactics, though at the moment his power over you is limited.”

“Wait … Morpheus? As in the Earth Greek god of dreams?” Spike's eyes widened.

“Yes. You know him as Lyle.”

He swallowed and shook his head, waving a hand. “Hold on, is this all some form of lucid dream?”

She shrugged. “I told you, I don't understand everything.”

“But, you said something about his power … what did you mean by that?”

Colitas took a deep breath. “Stay with me now. This is the important part. Morpheus's hold is limited until he gains the entire control of the conscious.”

Cocking an eyebrow, Spike scratched his temple. “Well, screw that whole idea. How about we just make a run for the exit from this spoiled rotten paradise!”

“That won't work. You'll never find the exit.”

He pointed. “Isn't it the front door?”

She shook her head. “You can never leave. Not that way. There is only one way out, and very few have achieved it. Though, they didn't make it far.” Colitas stood and reached out a hand, helping Spike to his feet. “You have to wake up … ” she pointed through the filthy glass pane into the neighboring cinder block room, “ … before your body dies.”

Spike's jaw hung loose. He pressed his palms against the glass. Inside that dim chamber-like room they all lay on the filthy floor—chests rising and falling slowly as if sleeping. Drag marks of their own feet through the debris showed the tracks and the scuffed footprints of another. Jet lay on his side with Ed leaning against him. Ein lay sprawled on his back. Faye sat keeled over against the far wall. In the center of the room Spike's own body lay in a twisted heap. Against the edges of the room the ivory tinge of bones. Dozens upon dozens of skulls lie among the collective of other bones in various signs of decay.

His pulse quickened. He patted his chest. It felt real. Solid. This … was reality. But his eyes gazed upon the truth. There he lay—with the god-be-damned bottle of sake still gripped in his hand. That tore it. He should have the verse's worst hangover, and he was fine.

Taking a staggering step backward his tongue nearly stuck to the roof of his mouth as he tasted fear. “Before … we … die?”

She gripped the sides of his face and turned it to look her in the eyes. “Or there is nothing for your consciousness to return to.”

“Well … fuck this!” He broke free of her hold and delivered a hard kick to the glass.

Instead of shattering, it became flexible, shifting out of his swipe.

“Wait … how did it … ?” Throwing a series of kicks and punches. All of them produced the same frustrating effect. The barrier evaded him. “Wake up, you idiot!”

Colitas calmly shook her head. “You can't reach yourself like that. The only one who can breach that barrier is Morpheus. The rest of us … once our bodies take their final breathes, we're trapped here in his world of illusions. Subject to his will.”

Spike caught his breath in a series of gasps. How long had they been like this? How long did they have? They were still breathing … for now. “The others,” he pointed to the barrier, “I have to find them. I have to tell them. We have to get out of here.”

Quietly, she embraced him in a shivering hug. “That's why I couldn't lie to you any longer … no matter what it costs me. Save yourself. Save them. I won't let you be condemned like I am.”


	6. Session 6

_ **Session 6** _

Jet smiled down as he rocked Sammy in his arms, holding a bottle she had not quite finished before passing out cold. So sweet, when she wasn't crying. He glanced back at Alisa, curled up in the bed sound sleep.

Somehow in this universe they had made this sweet little baby together. Setting the bottle on the night stand he held her closer. When he touched her chin, she opened her hand and even in her sleep, she grabbed his finger in her tiny hand. So strong.

“Just like your daddy,” he whispered. “Ok, little bug. It's the middle of the night, now time for real beddy bye.”

Jet gave her a kiss on the cheek. Carefully tucking her into the portable crib, he covered her up and stretched. Taking the bottle from the nightstand he shuffled across the floor to put it in the room fridge. It wasn't easy for a guy his size to move silently, but he made a fair effort at it as he stepped around the land mines of Tommy's toys across the floor.

His foot hovered over a toy car when a frantic knocking shattered the peace of the room. Jet turned and hastily darted across the room, opening the door with a scowl. Before even looking he put a finger to his lips. “Shhh! It's the middle of the night! The kids are finally sleeping!”

Outside his door, Spike stood with his hand still raised, locked in a mid-knock. “Jet, we gotta talk!”

Jet grabbed his jacket and hauled him up, hissing into his face quietly, “Are you deaf? Keep your voice down. My kids are sleeping.”

Spike shook his head, still hanging from the grip, “I hate to do this to you … ” he heaved a long sigh. “Shit! There's just no way this isn't gonna hurt. Those aren't **your** kids.”

Snarling, he pulled their faces together even closer. “Are you accusing my wife of infidelity?”

He flinched, looking away. “Not at all. But … ,” he swallowed and took a few breaths. “She's … she's not your wife.”

_The nerve of this man!_ “You got a death wish, stick boy?” Jet's hands trembled. “I'll pound you into the floor!”

“You've actually done that before.” Spike locked eyes with him. “You have to remember, pard.”

_Pard?_ That word, in that voice. It was like a bell ringing inside his head. Slowly, he released the wrinkled suit coat and took a step back, one hand rubbing his head. 

Spike held up his hands. “Jet, you have to remember the truth. The  _Bebop,_ the last handful of years.”

“ _Bebop_? That's my father's ship. What does that have to do with anything? It's back on Ganymede.”

“No. It isn't.”

Jet crossed his arms. “I have no use for an old boat like that. Not after I married Alisa... wait a second. How did you know about the ship? We've never met before here.”

“Only that's not true.” His voice grew more desperate. “We met years ago in a run down bar on Mars.”

“Mars? I've barely been to that planet. I'm an ISSP detective stationed on Ganymede.”

“Try again. You left the force years ago.” He tapped Jet's left arm.

Pulling out his badge, he laughed. “Think again.”

He smirked and reached out a hand, touching it. It morphed into a tin can lid. Jet dropped it, stunned. 

“We met years ago. You were chasing a bounty and we got into a drunken bet. You invited me to stay on the _Bebop_ afterward because I had nowhere to crash and you didn't even know you were looking for a partner.”

“But …,” he looked over his shoulder at the shaft of hall light spilling over Alisa, Tommy, and Sammy, “Alisa.”

Spike touched his shoulder waiting for Jet to look back and meet his sorrowful gaze. “She left you, years ago. Remember the watch? You'd stayed, waiting for her to come back until it stopped. That's why you left for the stars sometime before we even crossed paths. There was no home for you.”

Stumbling backward, Jet's mouth ran dry, the words coming out half formed. It took him several times before he managed to get it out, “This has to be real … Alisa … my kids … ”

Closing his eyes, Spike shook his head. “You need to see the truth.” His brow furrowed as he concentrated, pointing toward the room.

The hallway dissolved from a swanky hotel into a dismal ruin of cinder block halls. The door hung off the hinges, rotting. Inside the ram-shackled room a stranger lay on a metal table. Amongst the debris, two strange children who looked nothing like Tommy or Sammy lay sleeping. 

Jet staggered backward, eyes wide. “What the hell!”

They woke up. Blinking and staring at their hands. The woman grabbed her own hair and looked at the color. “Ohh shit! Hurry you two, it's blown. Come on.”

“But Marta, we can't hide for long.”

She grabbed the baby and held her to her chest running out the room hellbent. “Move it! He's busy with the newest arrivals, maybe he won't notice.” 

The young boy turned and waved. “Hey, it was fun while it lasted. Byyyyyeeee!”

Jet didn't know what he had seen. Jaw still hanging loose he looked back at Spike, who didn't seem phased. “How did you … ”

Shoving his hands in his pockets he bowed his head. “I'm a lucid dreamer. The best I can figure whatever this is functions similarly enough. Now that I know about it, I can somewhat influence it. Now, you remember?”

Rubbing his head, he nodded as it came trickling back. “Yeah, Spike-o. I do recall. That's why I kept having a feeling.”

“Deja vu.”

He nodded. “The same with the girls. Who did this to us? Wait, what's been done to us?”

“We have to find Faye, Ed, and Ein. I can show you the truth. It'll be faster if we split up. Meet you one floor down.”

Jet reached out a hand and shook on it. “Deal.”

“Oh, if you run into Lyle … run!” Without another word, he jogged off, vanishing down the hall, stripping the illusion as he went.

* * *

Middle of the night there wasn't much activity going on, which suited Spike well enough. The fewer of these 'false people' he saw, the better. They gave him the willies. All those bright smiles and 'family moments', how many of them actually were family? Like Jet's fake family, he bet they were random … he stopped, mentally and physically trying to wrap his mind around this. Random what? What were they?

The jingle of a tag caught his attention. Turning he found the familiar corgi trotting down the carpeted hall with a cheesy grin on his face.

“Ein! Come here, boy.” Spike crouched down and held out his hand.

Pausing, Ein cocked his head. His mouth closed as he stared with wary curiosity before yawning.

“Hey, I'm serious. Don't you remember me?”

He snuffed and shook his head so his ears whipped around.

“Really? We've been together for a while.” Spike rubbed his own chin. “Ok, memory lane, pal. Jet has forced me to give you several flea baths, every single time you've left claw marks all over me and a mess in the shower room. You have a habit of leaving your squeaky toys only in my bed, which I don't appreciate and I swear you know it despite how many times I threaten to jettison them out the air lock.” The blank stare still remained. “Not doing it? … ok, when you guys rescued me from prison and I was having a tough time you used to come into my room and curl up with me.” His head lowered, “You helped me sleep and I really … really needed that. I knew, but I never told you.”

Ein's mouth opened in a slow pant. He planted his rump and started to scratch an itch.

“Damn it. Alright, what about this? When you first crashed on the _Bebop_ Jet told me to 'take you out'. You remember what I thought he meant?” Spike pulled out his Jericho and aimed it at Ein. “You remember Jet rushing into the living room telling me he meant to 'take you outside for a walk' not put a hit on you.”

Ein blinked and cocked his head. In a moment his rump started to wriggle and he closed the distance jumping into Spike's arms and bathing him in dog slobber.

“Yeah... you're bac—ugh! No tongue in the mouth, you mongrel! Puh!”

But it didn't deter him one bit, his short little front legs hugged Spike's neck.

“Don't tell anyone, but I missed you too. Sorry for breaking your meal ticket. But we gotta get out of this, or this is going to get more serious. Come on, we gotta find Ed.”

Ein slid down and spun in a circle before facing Spike, pausing and woofing in a direction.

“You know where she is?”

He sneezed and padded further.

Spike took off after him racing down the hall and up a couple flights of stairs. The corgi scratched at a door. Spike narrowed his eyes. “I hate to do this, but I'm not leaving Ed to this sadist.” Pressing his hand against the door he willed the illusion to break.

What was a fancy hotel door faded into a dry rotted hunk of wood. The pressure of his palm was enough to knock it from its hinges. Behind the door, Ed sat in the middle of the hotel bed with her super-powered computer, completely engrossed in her goggled view. She giggled with glee at something.

“Sorry, kiddo. But this dream's gotta end.” Spike bent down and ruffled Ein's ears. “Do me a favor, you can be softer about this than I can.”

Ein's ears fell back, he emitted a little whine before padding up and jumping onto the 'bed'. Backing up a touch, Ein took a short waddly run before slamming into Ed's chest, bowling her over and knocking the goggles off.

Palming his face, Spike muttered, “How is that softer?”

Yelping with shock, Ed blinked as the dog proceeded to liberally coat her in slobber. “Hey... hehehe! Who are you? Where did you come from?”

Pausing, Ein whined and nosed her cheek to face Spike lingering in the doorway. He leaned against. “Sorry to wreck your dream, Ed. But it's time to wake up.”

She cocked her head. “Ed is awake.” She pointed to the cans of energy drinks all around her room. “See? Ed has had enough to stay up for like … days and days. Seriously deep net dive!”

Spike shook his head. “Not what I mean. Do you remember me and the _Bebop_?”

“Nyaaaahoooo. Should Ed?”

“Considering the level of chaos you caused to hitch a ride with us, yeah. You were quite obsessed. Knew more about us than we did.”

She threw her hands in the air and dissolved into giggles. “Ed doesn't know you, Mr. Tall Man. Now, Ed needs to get back to … ”

Ein pressed into her face, whimpering.

“Wait … does Ed know you?” Her nose wrinkled. “Ein?”

He exploded with joy at the sound of his name. The room altered, fading into a ruin, the computer utterly vanished. Ed blinked, looking around in confusion. At last her gaze settled on Spike. She threw her hands in the air and sprang off the dented metal exam table running full tilt with a broad smile in a collision course with him almost knocking him over. “Spike-person!”

He ruffled her hair, relieved with the familiarity in her eyes. “Welcome back to reality, kiddo. Sad as this reality is.”

She studied the room and held her nose. “This place not nice anymore. What happened?”

“It never was a nice place. Come on, Jet's getting Faye. We have a lot to talk about and a very short time to deal with this.”

She skipped at his side. “Deal with what?”

Spike took out a cigarette and lit it. “Good question. Still working on that.”

* * *

Jet gritted his teeth. It was the middle of the night and he was about to knock on the door of a media star … well, pseudo media star. How was Faye's temper going to take this little bubble being busted wide open? Spike's eyes had betrayed worry. This couldn't wait until morning.

He drew his fist back and knocked hard on the door, repeatedly.

After half a minute, an irate shout answered, “What the hell? It's the middle of the damn night, trying to get some sleep! Have you no decency?” The door wrenched open, a disheveled Faye with a sleep mask shoved up onto her brow blinked at him. “What do you want?”

“Yo Faye.”

She jerked backward and scoffed. “Uhhh yeah, I got better suitors than you. And wait a sec, I remember seeing you. You have a wife and kids.”

“No I don't.” He blinked, waving his hands frantically. “Wait! This isn't coming out right. Faye, listen. You're not a fabulous dancer.”

Fury lit in her eyes.

“No! You _are_ a great dancer! Seriously, you are … but the truth is you're not famous for it. You're not famous for anything.” Oh this was going off the rails in an epic fashion as her face grew redder by the word.

She stalked out into the hall, fists in the air. “Listen you asshole, you come and wake me up in the middle of night insulting me like you know me!”

“I do know you, I know the real you, Faye.” He held his hands up defensively. “The _Bebop._ ”

“The what?”

“My ship,” Jet took a deep breath, she was calming down a bit. “You have a craft called the _Red Tail_ and some time ago you decided to stay without asking because you had nowhere else to go. I kept giving you bills that you never paid because you routinely lost all your money betting on the ponies.”

She shook her head. “I'm a dancer.”

“Well, yes. You proved that, with Spike.”

Her eyes widened before they narrowed. “With the … the pool shark?”

“Yes.” Jet pointed at her, recognition dawning in her eyes as she struggled with it. “You took Spike as a partner in a long con of a bounty hunt in a dancing contest. The two of you did amazing together … so … uh … in a way, you are a famous dancer. But not at **this** level, and he's not a pro-pool shark, either. He's just a lunkhead.”

Faye's eyes shot wide. She backed up against the wall, trembling. “I … know you! Jet. Jet Black! What the hell is going on?”

“Phew! Thank heavens. Come on, follow me.”


	7. Session 7

_ **Session 7** _

Three sets of eyes stared through the window into the dim corridor at their own unconscious bodies. Ein's paws scrambled against the cinder block wall as he tried to jump up, his nose cresting the edge briefly before he dropped back down to the floor with a woof. Absently, Jet picked him up and held him. Fixating on his fuzzy mortal body, the corgi cocked his head and whined before his ears fell back.

In the front corner of what used to be Spike's room, keeping a line of sight out the doorway, he leaned against the wall smoking like a fireplace with a back upped chimney. For several minutes no one had said a word as it all sunk in. Colitas sat on the edge of the dented exam table, gaze locked to the floor.

Faye tapped the glass with her finger. “Let me get this straight. So we,” she pressed a hand to her chest, “aren't here. We're out there. But we can't reach out there because we're here?”

“Sort of.” Colitas sighed. “It's complicated. At the moment you're sleeping. Morpheus has brought your consciousnesses here.”

“And as long as our bodies are still alive we can get back?”

“Yes. But that's the hard part. Truly waking up.”

Ed traced her finger on the window around her own image on the other side. “Ed is here, but Ed is there. Is Ed in two places at once?”

Faye cocked a hip and placed a finger to her lip. “So, this is some cockamamie dream world?”

“It's not quite that simple, but yes. In a way it seems to be a dream collective in which Morpheus has ultimate control. At the moment you are fortunate, he has more than one batch of victims to keep him busy.”

Spike exhaled, not even looking their way. “That's why he has yet to notice we aren't still under his spell.”

“That's a good thing. Trust me.” She hugged a knee to her chest. “I would say try to hide from him, but I know that's pointless. I'm sorry this happened to all of you.”

“Now hold on … so you're Spike's Julia?” When Colitas nodded, Faye continued, “So who were the guys flaunting all over me?”

“Others like me. More victims who have had there consciousness trapped in Somnus and are now at his non-existent mercy.”

Stomping a foot, Faye clenched fists at her side. “I've had dead guys trying to seduce me?”

“Seriously.” Jet set the squirming Ein onto the floor. “If we don't figure out how to get back into our own bodies it sounds like you'll be a dead seductress.”

“Gah! Not in this lifetime, buster!”

With his eyes focused on nothing at all, Spike addressed Colitas, “How many more are there?”

“Still live victims or deceased?”

“Both.”

“There's another group of six who are on the cusp of succumbing. As for those who are trapped … ” Colitas closed her eyes. “I honestly can't answer that. I know of hundreds, but there are more that I cannot reach. Those who anger him earn their own private hell.” Her knuckles flashed white from the pressure of her grip on her knee. “He only plays with those who obey his rules.”

“What's with this guy?” Faye approached the table. “He have an obsession with death or something?”

“Not quite,” she sighed. “The best I can guess it's the opposite.”

“Screw this. I'm checking out of this dilapidated hotel.” Storming toward the door, Faye ran her hand along the wall knocking off the flecking paint. “Not even worth a one star review.”

“Checking out?” Lyle materialized in the doorway stopping Faye in her tracks. “Well, of course you can. Allow me to assist you.” He looked over the rim of his glasses at Colitas, who tried to make herself as small as possible. “Of course, _leaving_ is quite another matter.”

Still leaning against the corner, Spike fixed his half-lidded stare at him. “Hello Lyle, … or should I say Morpheus.”

He stiffened as his glare darkened at Colitas. “So … you told them. Well, no sense in keeping up pretenses. Let me slip into something more comfortable.” He pulled his glasses off and stuffed them into his pocket. Immediately the mild mannered desk attendant morphed into a robed man with an ornamental locket around his neck. “Better, now down to business and my little squealer.”

Faye gasped and took a step backward nearly tripping over Ein. The little dog yelped and ran into Ed's waiting arms. She swept him up and stared in confusion. Jet rubbed his eyes as Spike's expression only hardened through the stream of cigarette smoke.

Colitas slammed her hands on the table, defiance in her eyes. “This has to stop! How many more lives must you destroy?”

He laughed. “That is not for you to decide. Somnus is my kingdom, it is my duty to populate it.”

“By ripping people from their realities to make them your play things? You're a murderer!”

“Such a bland way of putting it. You have no vision, Colitas. I never should have trusted you with this role. Now that you have let them in on my little secret you have made things far more difficult for me. I shall have to consider your punishment seriously, but for now I have guests. So, you will have to wait your turn.” He snapped his fingers and in mid-word she vanished.

Everyone stiffened. Ed blinked. “Where did the girl go?”

Still blocking the doorway, Morpheus smiled as he folded his hands. “Don't worry about her, she'll be waiting for me when I am ready to deal with her. But for the moment I have all of you now needing to be entertained.”

Spike pushed up from the corner, an ember of challenge burning in his eyes. “I think we've had enough of our dreams being paraded for show, pal. Now, let us wake up.”

“Oh.” He smirked tugging on his sleeves. “You think I'm going to keep the kid gloves on and continue offering you desires on silver platters? What a daft fool you are, Spike Spiegel. Certainly not. The time for that is over. This is _my_ world. And you are subject to _my_ rules.”

“Uh huh.” Knocking the ash from his cigarette Spike eyed him sourly. “Hate to tell yah, but I got a little problem with rules. Especially from pompous assholes lame enough to declare themselves gods.”

Jet edged closer, muttering just over his breath, “Spiiiike, don't piss him off.”

But Morpheus's eyes were already narrowing.

“Too late.” Faye folded her arms over her chest.

“You think this is all a joke, do you? Well, then, how about this piece of cake?” He snapped his fingers and suddenly the room morphed into a large chamber with a squad of ISSP in full riot gear surrounded the crew of the _Bebop_.

“That it?” Spike glared across the room at Morpheus, the odd man's eyebrow twitched in shocked anger as his illusion turned to dust with a snap of Spike's fingers. “Some god. Gotta dig deeper than that, there's far more twisted shit than that in there.”

“Fuck! You're a lucid dreamer.” Narrowing his eyes, Morpheus cast his gaze over the entire crew. Low laughter rumbled in his chest as he raised his hands. “Perhaps I went a bit too ordinary against you. So, let's see you handle this one!”

The ground trembled. Two red orbs materialized high in the air surrounded by shimmering metal. Spike lifted his head to peer up at the towering allosaurus directly from the memories of that stupid asteroid theme park. “How did you fit **that** in here?” came his almost bored reply. At his side, Ed let out a startled shriek and made to bolt. Swiftly, Spike reached back and grabbed her wrist. “Stay close, kiddo. I got this thanks to you.” A wicked grin reached his eyes as he released her wrist and raised his right hand as if holding a gun. He snapped his fingers and Ed's makeshift remote device appeared in his grip.

Instantly Ed threw her hands in the air, cheering. “Yaaay! Heehee heehee!”

Morpheus blinked and cocked his head. “What the hell is that?”

“Once again, you forgot to dig deep enough.” Spike pulled the trigger and the robotic allosaur's eyes vibrated with the pulse. “Sick 'em, Sparky!”

The allosaur spun on its heel with an enraged roar. Morpheus released a rather unflattering scream—for a god, and vanished behind a column flanked by the conjoined laughter of Spike and Ed. Morpheus's panicked cries echoed, “Disappear! Go away! Why can't I banish it? How the fuck are you doing this?”

Spike grinned as the beast continued to stalk around the room hunting Morpheus. “Practice, you annoying prick.”

From the darkness Morpheus's recovered voice boomed. “Somnus is my kingdom!”

Shrugging, Spike kept his finger on the trigger following the beast's volatile gaze. “Alright, you can have your pathetic kingdom back. Just show us the way out.”

Silence answered, but the allosaur remained transfixed, clear that the target had not fled.

“Listen, you son of a bitch.” Spike took a step toward the shadows and glimpsed his movement. “I'm only gonna give you this warning once. I don't go down without a fight, and this is one you're not going to win. No one separates this crew!” He pointed behind him at Faye, Jet, Ed, and even Ein. “Trying that was your first mistake!” Spike's voice echoed into silence. He stared down the sight of the remote and commanded. “Come!”

The allosaur turned and plodded over, lowering its head to stare him in the eyes.

“One word, so-called god, and this beast that I have never been happier to see than now will end you. The way out … or the destruction of your kingdom.”

Jet hissed, “Spike, be careful.”

A whisper carried through the dark hall. “I have never known defeat.”

Spike blinked as the target seemed all around them, nowhere to aim the summoned thing. But it did nothing to banish his bravado. “Get ready, pal. It's coming!”

Nothing answered. The allosaur no longer sensed a target in the empty hall, its gaze wandered idly.

Jet glanced up at the allosaur. “This is a big problem, much bigger than a corgi following you back to the ship. So, are you going to just keep your finger on the trigger?”

“Well, unless you want him to eat us.”

“How do we get rid of him?”

Spike offered a bemused grin. “Heh … I have no idea.”

* * *

Every hall now looked the same as they wandered aimlessly through the corridors. Ein snuffled along the edges in front of them without any major pauses. There was nothing in this place but hall after hall, abandoned room after room. Entirely laid bare from the illusionary overlay, the place now resembled some form of research facility especially by the ward markings on the walls. Spike had a vague feeling the combinations of letters and numbers meant something. No way of asking. There wasn't even another presence that they stumbled across.

“Where is everyone?” Faye peered into another empty room. At least on this side there were no rotting corpses.

Jet shrugged. “Probably wherever he sent Colitas to. Right?”

Glancing over his shoulder, Spike shook his head. “I have no idea. This is certainly more than just a weird dream.”

“Ed had a weird dream back on the ship. Ed dreamed that we were floating out in space without suits and turning blue. Even Ein, which was weird cause his fur is not blue.”

“That's niiiiice.” Faye eyed her sideways. “Hey, we better be careful. They say don't die in your dreams, it means you die for real.”

Spike burst into laughter. “That's a fuckin' myth if I ever heard one.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I've died tons of times.” He lit another cigarette before answering. “Been shot, hit by cars, burned, fallen, crushed, stabbed … ”

Scowling, Faye shot back, “You sure those were dreams and not just your daily activities?”

“Come to think of it, little miss killjoy.” He rolled his eyes. “Still, doesn't matter. I get the feeling that's probably not a thing here. We need to find a way to wake ourselves up before we really find out.”

“How about pinching?” Ed ran around Faye.

In the midst, Faye shrieked in pain. “Edward! What are you doing? You pinch _yourself_ in a dream!”

“Oh, ok.” Ed pinched her own arm. “Hrm. Nothing happened. Ed is still here.”

Ein snuffed.

“Ed is bored.” She slouched as she walked along, whistling an idle tune.

“Spike,” Faye eyed him waiting for him to look her way. “How did you do that earlier? Produce Ed's remote control for the dinosaur that wanted to eat us.”

He heaved a weary sigh. “It's a long story … but to sum it up, I've had nightmares for most of my life. I learned a trick a long time ago, not even sure where I got it from, maybe I always knew how … but I learned to pick up on clues when I was dreaming and once I knew that I could influence it, most of the time. Doesn't always work, but when it does it helps.”

Lifting an eyebrow, Faye kept her voice down. “Nightmares? Like the twisted shit you brought up?”

“Mmm hmm.”

“Uhh, like stuff Morpheus can throw against us.”

“Looks like.” He kept the tone casual, but the truth was that worried him. How did Morpheus even know about the allosaur to begin with? As unperturbed as he presented himself to the jerk, inside Spike had a bad feeling about spending too much time here. Not if this guy could somehow dredge out memories.

Morpheus had known their deepest desires and sculpted them perfectly to the minutest detail. Both Julia and Alisa were known entities to Spike and Jet. Pulling off doppelgangers with that level of familiarity was no easy feat. Taking this threat lightly would be a grave mistake.

Jet trudged along with his eyes cast down into his open hands as Spike slowed and closed the distance between them. He whispered, “You ok, pard?”

“I swear I can still feel them in my arms. Damn, how can he do that? Make us believe our desires?”

“Because we helped to fool ourselves. We really wanted it to be true.” He offered lamely.

Jet's brow wrinkled as he eyed Spike. “How are you handling this so smoothly? Seriously would think you'd be a train wreck.”

Half-hooding his eyes he shrugged. “Truth is I want to be, but can't. We can mourn the loss of our artificial dream lives later. Right now we don't have time to be paralyzed by pointless actions.” His voice dropped even lower. “Do you know how long we've been like this?”

Jet shook his head.

“Me neither. But … hate to say this, there is a limit to how long the body can go without water. If time correlates we've been here for roughly two days. We got four days, tops.”

Stumbling in his stride, Jet gulped before he responded. “Don't _ever_ tell me how you know that.”

His expression was cold, businesslike as he walked onward. “Don't worry, I won't. I honestly don't like to think about that one.”

Facts were facts. The clock was ticking and Spike dreaded the grisly fate if they didn't win this battle.


	8. Session 8

_ **Session 8** _

Morpheus stalked the deepest corridors of his kingdom, his anger warped the space around him like a dark miasma. Disturbing shadows and images trailed in his wake, twisted nightmares of the collective unconscious.

“No one before has been able to defy me and effect something so large. Most of my new subjects simply embrace their bliss and fall into it. Obedient, eager for the carrot of experiencing more joy and bliss. It takes nothing more than that for the average human mind.” His hand flexed. “And then there are those—” lip curling stole any further words he might have said. Who would hear them anyway?

As he passed through the corridors he heard the cries of those imprisoned, trapped in their very own private pressure chambers of their own worst torments. And some of them were vile. The deep human emotions, desire and fear. Both equally motivating, capable of cruelty.

Wrenching open the door to one room, Colitas recoiled back into the shadows, tears already drew lines through the grime on her face. She clasped her hands. “Please, have mercy.”

He slammed the door with an ominous clang behind him, drawing up to his full height. “Mercy? Why? You just had spoil it. I had it perfectly sculpted, taken from that man's most buried dreams down to the minutest details. All you had to do was play your part.” He leered over her, claws in the air. “But you had to fucking tell him! And now the others are aware of the true nature of Somnus as well. Did you know what he was capable of?”

She shook her head, flinging tears. “No! I had no idea he was a lucid dreamer. Please, Morpheus, it was too close. I couldn't go through with it.”

“Even though you knew the price.” He coldly glared down at her as she pleaded with him.

Colitas bowed her head at length. “I have suffered your wrath before. I know there is no escaping your insidious reach.” Her voice choked off for a moment, one finger caressing the flower clip in her hair. “You will do unto others as you desire … and I know what inescapable agony you have in store for me.”

He flashed an apathetic smile, turning toward the door. As he did so the image of a handsome young man materialized, cast over the essence of one of his more demented subjects. One who savored this role, the not-so-beloved boyfriend. A knife flashed in his hand as Morpheus slipped the door to the sounds of Colitas screaming.

Now that that was set in endless motion, it was time to deal with that damn lucid dreamer!

*

Growling came from behind Spike's shoulder. Not a dog growling, that would have had another effect on him. Though it was related to a dog. A dog's stomach.

Ein whimpered, his claws clacked on the crumbling tile floor.

“Nyooo, Ein says he's hungry.” Ed staggered along, flopping her limbs like a scarecrow. “Ed is too.”

Spike heaved a sigh, her words had called to mind that he was feeling it too. Hunger, thirst … another thirst was starting to claw at him. He shut his eyes, he had been forced to endure resisting that itch before. _No, not now. I need to keep my head._

Peering into room after room, Jet scratched his head. “This place is a mad house.”

That wasn't something Spike wanted to mention. Something about the setups of the tables in the rooms, the heavy duty barred doors, some of the moldering supplies gave him an eerie vibe in these halls. The building they were wandering through, at least what he thought might be the skeleton of real one at some point in time, was not a typical hospital or clinic. Locked in silence he kept his hands in his pockets, trying not to let his growing nerves show. Over his years in the syndicate he had come to visit places that looked similar enough to this joint. Underground facilities, off the book. Places where people just … disappeared. What little he had uncovered about these places, Spike often wondered if those who were taken to them wished they had died of a hit instead. Those days were long over, and he had never personally subjected someone to that grim fate. His victims saw his face and met their fate by his own hands.

A shiver rippled through him as he realized he'd been wandering through the corridors of thought again. Was that how Morpheus got the details? It couldn't be that simple, how did he learn that much about Julia? He sure as hell hadn't been thinking about her, not with as much sake as he had downed. Hell, he hadn't been conscious enough to think about a damn thing—that was the point!

“Spike? Are you listening?” Faye touched his bare arm.

He blinked, coming back to reality, or whatever this could be considered.

“Alright,” she crossed her arms, “you're hiding something.”

Huffing a breath, kept walking without answering.

“Spike, what is it?”

If he didn't say something, she would keep prodding. “There has to be a trick to this. Colitas told us some have gotten back to their own bodies. So the question is how, how do we wake up over there?”

Jet stopped and leaned against the wall with a grunt. “Well, walking around this place is pointless. We are literally getting nowhere. I know I've seen this dent in the wall eight times in the last hour. This place is like a giant Escher.”

Cocking her head, Faye narrowed an eye. “Wait, you mean that artist who made all those strange morphic pieces? The endless staircase!”

“Exactly. The one that wraps around to itself.”

Spike sagged against the wall. “Infinity in a tiny little compartment. Who would have thought you could make it for real.”

“If this is real.” Faye touched one the barred doors and instantly backed away. “It seems as though it is. But how.”

Noting they were all looking at him, Spike shrugged. “I honestly don't know much about this. I just happened to discover that what works in my dreams, works here,” he lowered his voice, “for now.”

Faye and Jet stiffened, “What do you mean 'for now'?”

There was no chance to answer before the corridor shimmered. The doors vanished and the space widened into a dark column like room. Morpheus's booming laughter filled the air. “Dreams were not enough for you? Well, desire is not the only route to obedience. There is also,” he waved his hands around in front of him and large red emblem sprawled into the floor, a dragon, not just any dragon but _the_ Red Dragon emblem, “fear!”

Ed grasped Ein and held him close, ready to dart out of the way. Faye and Jet flanked Spike as for just one brief moment a flicker of dread crept into his eyes. Then, it vanished.

Steely eyed, Spike stood firm as the dragon rose up out of the floor, talons and teeth, blazing red eyes set to devour him. Un-phased, he took out a cigarette and lit it calmly, even as the monstrous roar buffeted his clothing.

“The beast that consumed your very soul, Spike Spiegel.”

He cracked a smile. One hand raising up in front of his eyes. Staring through his fingers he snapped them. The sound echoed in the eyes of the dragon. The creature flowed down from the rearing and rested its head at his feet. “Slight miscalculation. If we're delving back to those days … ” Spike sunk down into a fighting pose.

In response the red dragon turned it's stare to Morpheus, in the same damn posture as Spike.

Coldly he spoke through the rising tendrils of smoke, “ … whether I liked it or not, I _was_ the Red Dragon.”

Spike surged forward and the beast followed suit, snapping its jaws at Morpheus.

The so-called god darted backward, anger burning in his eyes. “This should have paralyzed you!”

“Not my happiest days, the truth is my choice was serve them or die in the gutter.” He snorted a laugh, tossing another punch as the dragon raked his claws against Morpheus. “So, I'm good. You keep giving me material to work with.”

“Faye!” Jet called out, “Watch out!”

“I can see the gigantic red murder beast, I'm not blind—Heads up!” Jet and Faye shifted backward away from the lashing coils, taking Ed and Ein with them.

Growling, Morpheus dodged the attack, momentarily losing a piece of his rob to the dragon's swipe until he waved a hand and it re-materialized in one piece. “You cannot harm me!”

Delivering a spin kick combo, Spike drove the dragon forward in a winding corkscrew attack. The dragon's very posture matching the visuals his sensei had taught him so many years ago. Even if he couldn't actually harm Morpheus, it didn't escape Spike that moments of true fear flickered on his face. He clearly had him on the defensive.

Morpheus scrambled to keep the columns between them, everything about his body language read that he wasn't at all accustomed to physical resistance.

This was a cold read, but Spike's instincts had been honed for it. Frankly, he didn't need the dragon vessel to throw at the man, his own fists would have been quite enough. However—if he didn't hijack the control, Morpheus clearly intended to use his toy against Spike. The one problem, this level of concentration was hard to keep up.

“Enough!” Morpheus's booming command vanished the beast into a spray of red dust.

For a second, Spike caught it. The flicker of fatigue in his own eyes. So it drained him too. He was vulnerable.

Morpheus stalked across the room. “You think you can beat me?”

“I'm way outta your league, pal!”

He laughed, dissolving into the ether. “And I am out of your world.” The voice came through the wall.

The window appeared, revealing the dimly lit room with their bodies slumped over. Out of the shadows a figure emerged. A man who looked like the spitting image of mild manner Lyle, only much more psychotic. He grinned and waved at them.

Faye pounded against the glass. “What are you doing? Let us out of here!”

“Proving my point.” He picked his way through. “Ohh, what a shame you can't wake up.” He reached down over Faye's unconscious form and caressed her cheek.

Faye instantly recoiled, hand covering the spot he'd touched. “What the hell!”

Sauntering through, his grin intensified. “In case you didn't realize you are still connected. Of course I could just murder you all, but I've learned though trial and error that doesn't produce good results. What remains here is less than desirable. I want full subjects to join my kingdom, ones full of hopes, desires, phobias, and pain. For that to happen, time is essential. The slow detatch.” He stood over Spike and smiled straight through the glass. “That doesn't mean I can't make a point.”

Spike narrowed his eyes.

Bending over, Morpheus grabbed Spike's right forearm in his firm grip.

He felt the phantom fingers against his skin.

“You have been a _very_ disruptive guest to my kingdom.” He smiled a little too brightly. “You will learn that I am not adverse to damaging my property.” Morpheus gave it a savage twist.

The sound of snapping bones punched through the barrier. Spike doubled over, unable to bite back the scream of pain. He gripped his arm, cursing even as the others pounded against the barrier trying to get Morpheus to stop.

At last Morpheus released the mangled limb with a laugh and vanished. “Good luck now, dreamer! Hahaha!”

Spike stared down at his bare arm. Slowly turning the limb, flexing his hand. It worked, it was whole. Oh, it ached something fierce, but the pain … wasn't from a real injury here. He mastered his breathing and stood up, pumping his right hand. Using it here would do no harm.

Jet gawked at the window, staring at Spike's still unconscious form on the other side. “That can't be good.”

And yet, in a way it was. “The moron.” A slow smile spread on Spike's face. “He's not as smart as he thinks he is.”

“Wha?”

Holding up his arm he barked a laugh. “As long this hurts, I got a pulse.”

Suddenly Ed's alarmed scream drew all their attention. “Ein! Where'd Ein go?”


	9. Session 9

_ **Session 9** _

“Ein, where'd you go! Come here, boy!”

“Ein, I got a can of dog food I promise I won't eat it!”

“Ein, if you come out I promise no flea baths, ever!”

“Ein! Where the hell did you go, you worthless furball!”

The edges of the hall faded into darkness, distant walls echoing the crew's growing frantic cries as they fanned out searching the shadows. It seemed more or less pointless. Other than the columns there was nothing else that could conceal the golden furred corgi. Between their rotating calls, they couldn't hear the telltale clack of his claws, or his panting.

He was … nowhere.

Jet turned in a slow circle taking in the vast room and the distant figures of his companions. They'd been searching for what felt like over an hour, but in this world of endless night it was hard to tell. “I don't get it. It's like he just disappeared. How can that happen?”

“This isn't a real world.” Faye cocked a hip. “We have to keep that in mind. None of this has to follow any rules.”

“It follows rules.” Spike tapped his right eyebrow. “Ever noticed that our host vanishes for a while after he pulls shit?”

“Yeah, so?” Faye shrugged. “What's to make of it?”

Ed answered. “He's recharging, like a battery.”

That earned her a little grin from Spike. “My thought precisely. This place and its,” he did air quotes, “'god' are bound by some form of laws. No matter what the windbag claims, he has limitations. And we've noted one of them. He's not infinite.”

“Uh Spike.” Faye's shoes on the stone ground clattered as she stepped toward him slowly, eyes always watching the shadows around them. “Speaking of limitations, what was with your comment earlier … when you said, you know, … for now?”

He waved a hand, equally vigilant. “Don't even ponder that right now.”

“Spike—”

“We have more important things to worry about. I hate to say this, but—Jet, we've wasted too much time searching for the mutt.” He had force out that last word. “We have to get out of here.”

“Nooo!” Ed clasped her hands in front of her. “Ein is family! We have to find him!”

Spike gritted his teeth. “We can't do that if we're dead!”

The floor rumbled beneath their feet as a thunderous voice laughed, encompassing all around the room. “ **What could you possibly have to worry about**?”

Darting toward one another, it was all in vain. The floor crumbled beneath them, sending them tumbling down into their own shafts scrambling at falling debris. The only sound accompanying their descent … the reverb of their cries against the growing walls mingled with hysterical laughter.

* * *

Ed coughed, opening her eyes to the darkness. She rubbed them with the backs of her hands and pushed up to a seated position.

“Hello?”

Only the empty echo answered her. She heard the trickle of water running along the walls. In the dim light she could make out some dented metal panels. Leaning in closer she discovered writing. LEV-L B6.

“Huh?” It dawned on her, she knew this place. “Wait … Edward is on Earth? How did Ed get to Earth again?”

This was an old basement of a shopping center. Backing up, Ed tripped over a bag. Her eyes widened. She remembered that bag … this day of scavenging. Deep in the basement she had discovered a load of equipment, stuff to build a satellite signal collector. Oh God … and why!

Her heart thundered in her ears.

Morpheus's laughter rang in the dark corner. “Remember?”

“No … ” Ed backed against the wall, she grabbed her head and shook it. “No!”

Bangs resounded. Fists pounding against the door so hard it shook on its hinges.

Ed didn't even scream. She just stared in horror as the latch broke and the metal door clanged to the floor no longer holding a pack of fist pounding thugs at bay.

“Hehe, look what we have here! A pack rat has gathered for us, boys!”

Wide-eyed, Ed sunk down, curling into a ball … _the reason Radical Edward called the Bebop. Please guys … help me!_

* * *

Dust clouds filled the air. Jet spat and wiped his mouth with the back of a hand. He paused, and blinked.

He felt that. Staring at the hand he flexed it. Flesh. Warm and with a pulse.

Glancing down at his suit, the fedora fell from his head into his lap.

_Wait, this hat. I wore this when I was a detective … the night that—_

Rays of lamplight shown through the slats in an alleyway.

Immediately Jet broke into a cold sweat. A floodlight thudded on, blinding him. He raised his arm to block the cruel light.

Standing … when had he stood? His gun was in his right hand … when had he pulled it?

The crude smile of a thug back lit by the blinding light.

Morpheus whispered into his ear, “Oh Black Dog. You can't escape the betrayal of fate.”

For a moment the light flickered and he glimpsed the flash off a sniper lens. Something he hadn't seen in real time that day … At the trigger, Fad squinted into the sight … and squeezed.

“Nooooooooooooo!”

* * *

This felt strange. Faye opened her eyes with a start. She sat up, gripping the towel draped over her upper body. The walls of the cryo-pod boxed her in. In a panic she climbed out. Fighting to keep from hyperventilating, she called out, “Hello? Anyone?”

No one answered. Lights flashed all around. Signs reading ERROR.

_Wait … was I frozen again? What year is it now?_

Staggering through the deserted corridors Faye listened to the echos of her bare footsteps. “I'm serious. Is anyone here?” She found a discarded hospital style garment and traded it for her towel.

Passing by the window in a hallway she paused and stared out. The starscape twisted slowly. For several minutes the sight enthralled her. How could this be happening through the hospital window?

A shadow blackened out the sky, an inch at a time. She furrowed her brow.

_That's odd._

Features caught refracted light. The outside features built out of the shadows. Dread filled her veins as she knew where she had seen a vision similar to this before. The slow rotation of a space ship.

Faye turned and ran to the computer, mashing the keys in a panic. “Come on! Don't tell me … ! This can't be … ”

The answer to her question played out as a low laugh echoed in her head. “What's the matter, Faye?”

Stumbling backward, she crumpled against the wall, biting her knuckle. Eyes staring at the computer screen.

PASSENGER MANIFEST: current total 1

Faye Valentine

“Not alone … no … I can't be alone!”

“Oh, but you are … and you _always_ will be.”

* * *

Breath crystallized in the air. Spike gripped his sides, hearing his teeth chattering even before he opened his eyes to the frost covered corridor.

He didn't have to look down to confirm, but he did anyway. That wasn't his typical blue suit, but the blue prison jump suit complete with that god-be-damned number that had been his name for over a year. He tugged back the sleeve and spotted the bar code tattoo. With his next inhale he felt the internal tension in his lungs, fighting the urge to cough. “Fucker really is thorough.”

Morpheus's voice rumbled, “Of course I am. All the better to crush your spirit with.”

“Heh. Well, sorry. But I lived through this.” He staggered to his feet.

“Oh, but you almost didn't. Or do you need a reminder?”

Out of the corner of his eyes the tight frozen shaft appeared, merely a natural crack in the cavus's ice wall. He couldn't look away as a cold sweat broke out, encumbered by the landslide of memories pressing down on him. He took a guarded step backward, shaking his head. But the damage was already done by the imprint of the past.

“No … I didn't die here.”

“You came so close. You know why you crawled in there. And you had to crawl because that's all you were capable of.”

Spike closed his eyes.

“So close to the breaking point. You. Gave. Up.”

He gritted his teeth, knowing the damned truth. Exhaling a short breath he watched the cloud form. “Unable to smoke or drink, freezing, suffering from illness and having the shit beat out of me by inmates and guards alike … anyone would have reached that point. But I'd survived far longer than most. Fourteen months. And Jet came for me.”

“That's right.” Morpheus materialized with a smile. “He rescued your weak carcass.”

Growling, Spike slammed a fist into the wall. “Fuck your arrogant ass! I've had it with your games!”

At the sound of his strike a panicked scream rent the air, “Spike!”

“Faye?” Ignoring Morpheus, he turned to the wall and placed his hands against it, willing a hole with all his might. “Faye! Hold on, I'm coming!” The cold fire in his chest grew, trying to choke the will from him.

“That won't work.”

“Really?” He grunted as his hand gradually pushed through the ice, it was exhausting work forcing the concentration, but Faye's cries drove him on. “Tsh! You just keep being wrong, god.”


	10. Session 10

_ **Session 10** _

Water dripped down from the hole Spike willed into the ice. He gritted his teeth, fighting the ache in his chest as it grew. Droplets of blood spattered the wall from previous coughing fits. He had to break through, not a damn thing else mattered.

Morpheus yawned. “Alright, enough of toying around.” He snapped his fingers.

Spike faltered as he suddenly felt the weight of that damn prison collar around his neck. His breathing hitched.

“You never did experience what this did … only saw its effects on someone else.” Morpheus leaned forward, his forefinger and thumb poised. “Do you really wanna know?”

_I'm close! I can feel it. Don't get distracted! Don't get—_

SNAP!

“GAH!” His hands of their own accord grabbed onto the collar as he tried to yank it off, unsuccessfully. The reality was he had spent over a year trying to dislodge the damn thing. Agony spread through him as the acid from inside released into a scorching torrent. Any attempt at anything was abolished as he writhed on the floor, panting and clawing at the composite collar.

“Oh, are you worried you're going to die?” Morpheus studied his fingernails. “Perish the thought. It's not that easy here.” He smiled, leaning into Spike's panicked vision. “The truth is—there is no way out. Here I can kill you as many times as I want.”

The acid traveled through his veins until it gave him the worst ever case of heartburn. To his despair it didn't end. The pain just faded as he lie there wheezing from the Ice Fever and glaring as Morpheus chortled. The moment he salvaged enough strength, he shakily reached up and grabbed the collar willing the god damned key into his hand. Unlocking the thing, he threw it aside and with his hostile gaze still locked on his tormentor, he returned to melting a passage through the wall. Oddly his renewed efforts were even more effective as he used his anger to fuel the heat.

Morpheus lifted the corner of his lip. “Persistent little shit aren't you.”

Spike coughed and hocked a blood loogie at Morpheus's feet. “My middle name. Now piss off.”

The light in the god's eyes began to flicker. With a growl he turned and vanished into the shadows.

Left alone, Spike redoubled his efforts. “I'm coming, Faye!” The work was slow, and grueling. More than once he stopped in the growing tunnel as a coughing fit stole his breath. His vision blurred from the effort. He had a choice, abolish the illness or reach Faye. He knew he didn't have enough for both.

At last the wall fell away, spilling Spike out onto the metal paneling of a floor. He gasped and wheezed, his eyes barely opening.

Bare feet pounded the decking. “Spike!” Faye shouted. “Oh my God, Spike, is that really you?” Her clammy hands grabbed his shoulder. She didn't stop there. Clawing at him, she pulled his limp body up into her arms, holding him tight. It didn't escape him that she was shaking. “I'm so glad to see you. You're half frozen, but I've got you. I was all alone and thought I would be … forever.”

Wracked by another coughing fit, Spike lay across her lap utterly exhausted.

Her fingers traced patterns in his hair. “I can guess what he used on you by the outfit and the sound of your breathing. Are you ok? Can you heal yourself?”

Slowly, he shook his head, another annoying tickle beginning to build. Morpheus had picked to mimic close to the end of that misery when every breath felt like inhaling ice water.

“Just keep your eyes closed. You need to rest.”

It took a lot of effort, but he forced out, “Ed?” and tried to point.

Faye looked around. “You came from the same direction I think I saw you in when we fell. You want to know which way to Ed?”

He nodded, his eyes refusing to stay open.

“Give me a moment.” She covered his eyelids. “You have to rest. I'll mark the walls for you. Ed and Jet. If you reached me, we can get to them.”

He sank down not completely going under as he gasped each breath, listening to her bare feet pad around the deck plates.

* * *

Fear clawed at Faye as she continued to glance over her shoulder at the figure in the half shredded prison jumpsuit lying in a wheezing heap on the floor.

_He's real, right? This isn't an illusion sent to tease me. That's really Spike and he's not going to just wink out of existence. If Morpheus could do that to us surely he would have. I'm not alone. I'm not alone. I'm. Not. Alone!_

Panic welled in the pit of her stomach as she tiptoed over, gripping the hospital gown tight at the collar and sat beside Spike. Her bare knee touching his wrist, his heart beat steady against the skin. When he stirred she asked, “Spike, are you awake?”

He nodded, but kept his eyes closed.

“Can you … can you tell if you're still alive?”

He shifted his right arm. “Yeah. That still hurts.” Slowly he rolled onto his chest and pushed up. “Ok … where's Ed at?” Every breath was a strangled wheeze.

“Spike.” She touched his shoulder. “Shouldn't you cure that?”

He shook his hanging head and held up a finger. “I have to ration. I can do one thing now … that or a passage to Ed.” He staggered toward the wall and flopped down, placing a hand on Faye's mark. He closed his eyes until they creased. A mesh panel appeared with an air duct behind it, so thorough a draft came through it.

Passage complete, Spike fell forward, sliding down to the floor.

Faye dashed over easing him away from the wall a ways and laying him out on his back. He was feverishly warm, and gasping. She stroked his sweat-soaked hair. “I got this. You stay here and get some rest.”

He didn't respond.

Pulling the mesh off, Faye climbed into the shaft blocking out all the light. Silence pervaded.

Alone. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. What if Morpheus came back and discovered what they were doing? What would he do? Would he confine her again to being alone? Force the others to abandon her? She shuddered at that thought—seeing their backs over and over again as they left her on her own.

Spike. For a moment she paused, frozen by the realization. He had come for her. Abandoned? Hardly. The fear lingered, but it was undeniably true. Pushing on toward the distant light the tunnel grew rougher beneath her bare knees. A mesh grate hanging by a single screw fell with a crash as she leaned out the opening and stared down into a dim wreckage of a collapsed room.

Muffled sobbing caught Faye's attention. Crawling down into the room, Faye discovered the place was an old shopping center that had collapsed into a basement. To her relief she discovered some clothing, she dug through and found a pair of jeans and a t-shirt in her size. Quickly covering her skinned knees and now able to discard the drafty hospital gown, she felt a little less, exposed. Picking her way through the debris, she approached the sound, disturbed by the sight of droplets of blood.

Coming around a slab of broken concrete she found a figure rammed into the darkness. A shock of red hair betrayed her. “Ed?” Faye called out. “It's ok, it's me. You can come out.”

Slowly, she untangled her limbs and lifted her head. The moment her bloodshot eyes met Faye's she threw herself on her. Bruised and battered, she clung to Faye like a frightened monkey. Faye hugged her tight as the child sobbed. “Who did this to you?”

“Thugs!” She blurted. “Bad bad men beat Ed up, took Ed's stuff! Found Ed wherever Ed went.”

“You're ok, now. I got you kiddo.” Faye looked her over as best she could. Ed was dirty and scraped up, bruised, but nothing looked lethal. “Can you crawl though a tunnel? We have to get back to Spike.”

She lifted her head and sniffled. “Spike-person?”

Faye pointed through the opening the fallen grating left. “Yup. Right on the other side.”

Without another word, Ed released her hold and shifted it to grabbing Faye's hand as they headed for the shaft, crawling the full length to the other side. The moment Ed hit the floor she ran to Spike, hugging his prone body. He shifted an arm and hugged her neck.

“Spike-person sleepy?”

“Yeah.” He rasped. “Now for Jet.” He tried to get up but failed.

Shifting to his other side, Faye pressed pointlessly on his shoulder. “You need a bit longer.” He hardly fought her, his eyes barely opening between long blinks. Staying in contact, Faye sat beside Spike as Ed hugged her, her eyes staring off unfixed.

Ed muttered softly, sniffling in between words, “On Earth Edward called the _Bebop_ after the bad men got her one too many times. Found the equipment needed to find you. Track you. Get you to come for Ed. Take Ed far away where they couldn't reach.”

Faye's heart sank. She'd made a false promise, not intending to let the child onto the ship. As Ed shivered beside her she couldn't fathom making that choice now.

“Here Spike-person made the tunnel. Faye-Faye came through.” She sniffled, rubbing her nose with the back of her hand. “You came for Ed.” She interlaced her fingers, eyes closing to squeeze out the tears from bruised lids. “Thank you.”

Hugging her tight, Faye whispered, “Always. That's what we do. When Spike can manage it, we're gonna go get Jet too. Ok?”

“Screw waiting.” With a grunt, he rolled over and pushed up onto his hands and knees, crawling toward the last mark. “We don't know what he's going through. Let's finish this reunion.” Closing his eyes he pressed hard against the wall and another air duct materialized. Tearing off the grating, he crawled through.

“Wait, Spike!” But it was too late. Nudging Ed to her feet, Faye crawled ahead. “Let's go get Jet.” Ahead of her, Spike blocked the light in the shaft, any there would have been. From a distance she heard panicked shouting. The voice belonged to Jet.

Spike crawled out hastily and staggered toward a hunched over figure pounding a fist against the wall.

As swiftly as she could, Faye dashed across the filthy alley shocked to find a trail of blood at her feet. It lead straight to Jet.

Dressed in an old style suit, he leaned against the wall, repeatedly pounding a fist against it. His left arm hung limp … the upper portion reduced to shreds by a massive caliber shot. “It's all over!” he wailed, the rest an unintelligible mass of words.

Spike grabbed his good shoulder. “Hey, Jet. Look at me. Easy partner. This isn't real.” He was wobbling as he crouched there, but it didn't matter. Spike laid a hand on Jet's wounded shoulder. He screamed and tried to break away, but Spike tightened his grip. “Let me help you!” In a flicker of light Jet's arm became the mechanical version they all knew, along with his usual attire.

Shocked, Jet held up his hand and flexed it. “How did you—”

He couldn't finish, Spike slumped forward onto him, coughing and gasping for breath.

“Hey, Spike! Shit, what are you doing?” He held him carefully, trying to rouse him but he didn't respond. “You're really spent. Faye, what's going on?”

Ed peered from behind her leg as Faye pointed back into the tunnel. “Spike forged passages between our private hells. He didn't look good when he came through into mine first. Needed to rest for a while.”

Patting his shoulder, Jet nodded as his eyes took in the full state of his friend, lingering on the acid burned neck. “Still does. He earned it.” Bending down, Jet flopped Spike onto his back so his arms were either side of his neck, grabbing his legs he stood up. “I got him. Let's get moving. We have to find a way out of this mess.”

“I don't recommend going back to Spike's. You can guess what his entailed. Pluto is not a place to wander. Mine was a secluded spaceship. Doubt we'll find an out there.” She brushed Ed's hair. “Ed's was a collapsed Earth basement.”

Jet nodded grimly. “Ganymede it is.” He turned and started to trod out of the alley carting a wheezing Spike along. Faye couldn't help but note the gleam of hatred in Jet's eyes. “Keep a lookout for Morpheus. I'm gonna have a few words with that asshole when I see him!”

As they made their way along the back alleys, the night cast waters gleamed in the dark, Faye didn't even try to lift her hand out of Ed's tangled hair. The child clung to her and it felt reassuring to have her near. Someone, a presence. A reminder Faye wasn't alone as they wandered, lost. No one else was here. It was empty, desolate.

Downright eerie if anyone were to ask Faye.

At length, Jet paused and squatted down, depositing Spike carefully against a wall. He slumped there, head to the side, wheezing like a blown bellows. Jet shook his shoulder gently. “Pard, come on. You have to do something about this. You can't leave yourself in such a state.”

Spike cracked open his eyes and tried to shake his head. He coughed into his hand. When he dropped it into his lap droplets of blood stained his pale skin.

Edging closer, Faye knelt down beside him. “Please, Spike. I can't watch you die.”

He cracked a weak smile, pointing at his neck. “Can't. The arrogant idiot already showed me death was impossible here.”

A bucket of ice water. Faye leaned close to him. “What?”

Jet held up a hand. “It doesn't matter. Neglecting this is draining you.” He grabbed Spike's hand and pressed it to his chest. “Do it. If you're not strong enough to walk, I will carry you after.”

He rolled his eyes. But in a moment he closed them and concentrated. It took what felt like forever until he lay slack, breathing easier back in his regular suit without the damn tattoos. Cracking his eyes open he waved a shaking hand to Ed, “Come here.”

She staggered toward him on bruised legs, sitting down and nestling up to him.

Spike embraced her shoulders and held her close. “No way I'm leaving what those assholes did to you. They're not gonna get you again.” His thumb caressed her bare shoulder as the wounds disappeared. With that, Spike's color drained paler. His eyelids grew heavier. But Ed didn't move away. She pressed her ear against his chest, tears in her eyes.

Looking off into the endless horizon Faye and Jet locked eyes. No words were needed. They sat down, one on either side of the now sleeping pair. They stood guard. “We're losing time.” Faye sighed.

Jet nodded. “I could pick him up, you could carry Ed … ” he shook his head, “but I can't disturb them.”

Somberly she muttered looking around at their nightmarish prison, “He's been gone a long time, but he'll be coming back for us. I'm sure building all this wore him out.”

Jet grunted. “Not as big as it looks, this place is a loop.” He pointed to the dented panel. “We keep passing that. Once Spike recovers a bit, I want to try something. But he won't regain much being jostled around.”

“Do you think he'll be alright?”

“Of all of us Spike knows how to push through no matter what the weight he's forced to carry. I'm confident he just needs a bit of shut eye.” Jet picked up a metal pipe from the debris. “And if that asshole makes his presence known in the meantime, he's gonna learn a lesson! No one messes with my family!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tickled pink to have artwork provided by Moira_Lathal  
> Tumblr @thestarlightsymphony and insta @swedish_starfish  
> It is an honor to receive comments entailing a burning need to draw a scene I wrote.  
> Thank you!


	11. Session 11

_ **Session 11** _

Time stood still in the endless Ganymede night.

Faye stared out at the lights sparkling on the dark water against the background reflection of Jupiter. Ships bobbed up and down at anchor, unmanned but unreachable. The breeze caught some papers and tossed them in aimless circles.

She gripped the metal pipe she'd armed herself with tighter even though nothing had changed over the last hours. Inside this impossible pit maze they were isolated from the rest of Morpeus's world. Non-the-less Jet leaned against a streetlamp, his hawk-like eyes on an endless scan back and forth. One side was protected by the deep waters of Ganymede's ocean. The other was protected by the brick building. Motionless, Spike slumped against with Ed still curled into his side. Both of them out cold so deep they weren't even snoring.

“Jet?” Faye kept her voice just above a whisper so as not to wake them. “How long do you think it's been?”

“A few hours.”

Shaking her head, she wrung her hands against the pipe. “That's … not what I meant.” Although that was important too. Spike had been down for the count the whole time, not even stirring. “How long since we were out in that forest?” The memory of their picnic in the glade was vague.

He took a deep breath and let it out through his nose. His eyes flicked to Spike, closing for a moment too long before offering a slow shake of his head.

“Maybe we should keep moving, try to find a doorway of some sort out of here.” Faye took a step toward them.

“I don't think we stand of chance of that. If it were that easy we would have found one by now. Besides, they need the rest.”

A whimper turned their heads suddenly. Ed, with her eyes clenched tight, fidgeted, her bare feet kicking against the ground. Her hands tangled into Spike's shirt, tugging and clawing it tight against his side, nearly dislodging the buttons.

Faye started toward them when she spied the faint glimmer of Spike's eye cracking open, already fixed on Ed. A moment later Faye froze to the spot as a soft humming filled the air in a lullaby, a melody she had heard every so often, but only when Spike was deeply preoccupied. Ed continued to fuss until Spike added words to the lilting melody. Words that she had never heard before.

“When the shadows lengthen at the end of day

When the night songs call an end to play

Tis time to lie down and close eyes tight

Time, my child, to look to the light

Eyes to the stars in the vast endless sky

Chasing the moonbeams though we don't know why

Heaven's a beacon far up above

And I am your guardian, forever my dove.

Til the break of the day

Chases the shadows far away

So dreamer look to the starlight

And I will be your guide”

With her head still against his chest, Ed smiled, her eyes halfway open. “Mmmm, Spike song always make all the bad things vaporate.”

He ran a weary hand through her hair. His eyes still betraying his exhaustion. “They're not real, kiddo. Back on Earth. You know they can't hurt you now.”

Slowly she nodded. “That was a long time ago. Ed has seen lots of things.”

Kneeling down, Faye cocked her head. That alluring melody, the words left her oddly at peace, like when she was a child in her parent's embrace, only her parents hadn't sung to her. “I've never heard that before.” … not on the radio. Only through Spike's distracted humming.

“Ed has.” She patted Spike's hand. “He sings it to Ed when she needs to hear it. When the bad bad men come for Ed in her sleep.” Blush rose to her cheeks. “Ed tried to learn how to make them go on her own, but can't. Spike makes them leave Ed alone.”

Spike took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “I doubt you would have heard it, Faye.”

There was something about the way he said that. Even in the exhaustion there was a haunted edge to his tone. “Why?”

“My mother used to sing it to me.”

Faye stiffened.

Spike opened his eyes, the left one a little moister than when he'd shut it. “I … I don't have many memories of her … but for some reason, … this one song … stuck.”

Ed hugged his arm tight. “Ed likes it when it reaches her and pulls her out of the dream.”

It struck like a bolt to the chest, Faye narrowed an eye. “What did you say? Spike … could a song do that?”

He blinked blearily. “Do what?”

“Pull us out!”

“Music can do a lot of things.” Scratching his head he shrugged. “Maybe, I honestly don't know. But I doubt it if we're all in here. Dammit, stop staring at me as though I have the answers! I'm staggering through this, same as you.”

From the lamppost, Jet inclined his chin. “Spike, you created a hole in the wall to reach each of us. Can you make one to the outside?”

He snuffed a laugh. “You think I haven't tried? No. It never leads there. Always somewhere else. And besides, I'm still far too drained to even try something as taxing as that. The best I can manage now is something small.”

Another chill ran down Faye's spine, reminding her of going into a firefight with a single bullet in a gun. The pipe in her hand felt inadequate.

Ed tugged on Spike's shirt again, her eyes bright with fear. “Ed wants to go back home. Ed doesn't want to stay here where the bad bad men can reach her.”

Not meeting her eyes, Spike stared out at an unfixed point, his hand idly rubbed her back as she trembled. “To be honest, I don't want to be here either, kiddo.”

Ed blinked and jerked upright. “Spike … is shivering.”

“Spike is worried.” To hear him say that, even as a faint whisper, struck Faye.

She had heard him in a rare moment admit his limit before … in the kitchen after wrestling with a robotic dinosaur while he should have been nursing a concussion. For his cocky ass to acknowledge any concern at all … it froze her.

Distantly, Spike's eyes stared off. “There are things … things I _never_ want to see again.”

Faye touched his arm. He _was_ shaking. “I thought Pluto … Quidlivun Cavus was your worst. It … isn't?”

He didn't shake his head. He didn't look at her. His eyes just trembled along with the rest of him.

All the memories of him recovering from missions gone not-quite-right came back to her. How unflappable he had _appeared_ to be. What had he gone through before that to steel him so? Her breath caught in her chest. She didn't really know the full truth.

“Hey.” Coming closer now, Jet gazed down, worry swimming in his eyes. “Banish those thoughts, pard. We don't know how Morpheus is getting his information or if this guy is even human.”

Spike shifted, climbing his way up the brick wall to standing. “Oh, he was human at one time. I have no doubt in my mind about that. That's the only way to understand emotions enough to pull this shit off. He's damn good at what he does.”

“He hasn't gotten very far with us.” Faye tapped the pipe against her leg as she watched Spike pick up a piece of brick from the debris and toss it up and down in his hand.

“The fact is, he doesn't have to. Being a pest is enough for now. This is something like water torture. The single drop at a time repeated over and over again in the same spot.” With a slightly unsteady step, Spike approached the waterfront and hefted the brick shard in his hand, frustration stalked his voice. “He doesn't have us yet, but all he has to do is wait long enough. Believe me, I know something about utilizing patience as a tool. Wearing down the prey, that's what he's doing.”

With a swift flick of his wrist he sent it skimming across the calm waters leaving behind ripples that grew until they overlapped … all five of them.

Before Faye could ask, he gripped his right forearm. “We're still alive.”

“How is he doing this to us? How is he holding us here?”

Ed tugged on Jet's jumpsuit. “Remember the hacker in the hospital?”

“Brain Scratch? Do you think this is similar?”

She nodded.

Faye blinked and pointed. “We saw our bodies, there's no equipment attached to us.”

Turning toward her, Spike folded his arms. “You weren't wearing any when I found you. The sound waves in that room were enough.”

“Could it be that simple?”

Ed chewed on a finger. “For a start, yes. But that can't be all there is. What about all this?”

“Mushrooms.”

Spike and Jet eyed Faye darkly.

“What? I didn't have the best trip on those either! Besides, I doubt it is anyway, I don't remember any in our picnic.”

With a sigh, Spike shoved his hands in his pockets, heat rising to his cheeks. “Can't be anything eaten … cause I didn't have even a bite that day.”

When Faye glanced at Jet the faintest flicker of concern crossed his face before he banished it. He barked, “We can rule that out. But if something on the outside is effecting us, like a sound wave, how can we interfere it from _this_ side?”

Spike stared at him blankly, scratching his chin. “That's the crux of it all. It's like trying to get air to a drowning man at the bottom of the Ganymede ocean without the aid of a submarine.”

A voice like a whisper disrupted the conversation. “You think you are so clever. Keep struggling in my trap. None of you are smart enough to figure this out.” Framed by Jupiter's looming mass, Morpheus appeared in the distance stalking toward them.

Turning to face him, Spike scowled ramming his hands in his pockets. “Done with your nap?”

Morpheus smiled and spread his hands. “Done with yours? My my, Spike, you look a bit drowsy. Why don't you just lie down and die?”

“You first.” He half-hooded his eyes.

Jet and Faye came to either side of him, pipes to palms in a slow threatening rhythm.

“Fact is, Morpheus. You are out of your depth with us. I tried to warn you. But you insisted on this game.”

Grinning at Spike he raised his hand, finger and thumb together. “You're going to regret this.”

“Oh no. That's your role, buddy.”

The signal was minute, but Faye and Jet launched in a simultaneous attack, swinging the pipes in a violent two prong. Jet swung for and connected with his head. Faye's pipe cracked bones in his hand effectively preventing his snapping.

Tumbling back, Morpheus stooped over his crushed hand. Blood dripped from his wounded forehead into his eyes. “You … will … regret … that!”

He'd been distracted, far too distracted.

By now Spike stood back where he'd started, flipping a small device in his hand with a bright green light. He flashed a wicked grin. “You're good, but you're sloppy. When looking at my past, did you even pick up on how I died?”

“Died?” Morpheus raised his head and had to wipe the blood from out of his eye. “You … ” he paused, staring unfixed for a moment before glancing back at the waterfront, panic welling.

Holding up the remote, Spike narrowed his eyes. “The only way out of a syndicate… is death!” He punched the button on the remote.

A faint beep emitted from Morpheus's robe pocket as a lump of C-4 exploded sending him tumbling into the water in a shrieking fury. Followed by nothing but the lapping of the waves.

At the edge, Spike looked down and smirked. “Not to brag, but I did it better.”

“Do you think that killed him?”

“No. But I think it gave him a really bad backache.” As if in answer, Morpheus's blood wreathed corpse twitched.

Ed gave a little shriek, her hand gripped her own arm as she stared at it wide-eyed. “Something is cold in Ed!”

A second later Jet dropped the pipe with a clang and took a step back, gripping his own arm. “What the hell? I … felt something too!”

Were they crazy? But it started, a prick and a strange cold sensation traveling up her arm. Rotating the limb, Faye blinked. Nothing had changed. No one was touching it … here. A slow smile grew as it dawned on her. She looked to Spike's right arm. “Hey, hey! Can you feel it?”

He was smiling that cocksure smile of victory as he raised his arm and flexed the hand. “Bad day, indeed! Haha! If this is what I think it is … we are out of here! See you guys back in reality!”

Standing on the edge, looking down into the ocean, all four of them offered the floundering corpse of Morpheus one finger salutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spike's mother's lullaby was written by me.


	12. Session 12

_ **Session 12** _

Steps echoed through the metal corridors registering on the tiny screen on his wrist. Bob maneuvered around debris scattered all over the deck plates of the _Bebop_ holding his breath as a shadow skittered into the darkness. Something was wrong, so wrong he held his gun in a shaking hand. The ship tied to the dock of the nature reserve's lake sat on aux power. She'd been thoroughly tossed, but nothing appeared to be stolen. When he'd called out, no one had answered according to the device.

_That message was strange as hell. What's going on here?_

He didn't dare pull out his communicator to look at the screen, but he clearly remembered the words in the text message from having to repeat them multiple times to the chief to get clearance to go.

“ _Bob, please adhere precisely to every instruction in this message. Proceed to Mendel Crater toward the nature reserve and follow the_ Bebop's _tracking beacon. Bring medical staff with EMT training STAT. It is imperative that everyone have military grade noise blocking headphones and communicate entirely through the builtin radio channel. Warning: DO NOT remove headphones! Come swiftly. This is an SMC situation.”_ There had been a short pause before a second message arrived. _“SMC, just realized that you are probably more familiar with SOS. I don't give a shit about the ship. It means Save My Crew. See you soon.”_

Bob's immediate reaction had been confusion. Surely this was a joke. Jet didn't talk or write like that. Had he been drugged? He couldn't imagine Spike being that cordial, the guy was more or less a thug. And Faye? Well, possible, but he doubted that. She didn't seem one to use the word  _please_ in any serious turn of phrase. Bob had received messages from Ed before … definitely not her! There were no emojis. Worried, he'd spent the next hour convincing the chief to let him check things out.

Outside the ship the EMT's and the officers he'd taken with him on this impromptu mission waited as he scouted the interior first.

Nothing but his steps registered on the sound monitor he wore on his wrist as he climbed up the metal stairs to the bridge. It was eerie not hearing anything as he called out. But that written warning left a chill as he cleared the steps. 

No one was on this ship. It felt entirely deserted. “Jet? Where the hell are you?”

Though he couldn't hear his own voice through the headphones, in response to it two large ears poked up from the cockpit. A moment later a head popped up over the arm of the pilot chair. A corgi sporting a red collar with the tag saying  _Ein_ panted and he swore smiled at him.

The ship's dog vaulted out of the seat and ambled over as swiftly as his paws could carry him. Even in the dim light it was obvious he was dirty. He nudged Bob's ankle until he knelt down. 

“What? Do you want to be petted?”

“ _Bob?”_ Over the channel came a reply. _“What the heck is going on in there?”_

“It's just Ein, their dog.”

As Bob tried to stroke between his ears, Ein ducked his head and seemed annoyed—if dogs could be annoyed. That was a mind-blower. 

Ein nudged his hand.

“What do you want?”

He nudged it again. Bob opened it palm up and Ein dropped ear plugs into his hand.

“Uhhh, I have these on. Noise canceling.”

Ein turned his head, twitching his ear as he side-eyed him. This proceeded for over a minute as Bob looked at the ear plugs, the dog, and the knocked over rooted through toolbox. 

“Wait … ” Bob met Ein's pointed stare. “You want me to put these in your ears?”

Ein huffed a sneeze and stepped closer. 

“Oooookkkkkaaaaay. This is going to be a weird day. Where are the others?”

Putting his paw on Bob's knee, Ein nosed the earplugs.

“Fine.” He popped one into each ear channel and waved a hand. Within a second Ein tore off down the stairs leaving Bob to race behind the dog wondering how such short legs could go so damn fast. “Ein, wait!” 

It struck him as he raced toward the flight deck tailing the dog that with the earplugs in he couldn't hear him calling out. 

“ _What's going on?”_

“There's a dog headed your way, follow him!”

“ _Roger!”_

That was unwarranted. At the edge of the forest Ein stood panting, waiting with wide eyes for them to descend the ladder to the dock. The moment Bob's foot hit the dock, Ein turned and darted down the path pausing here and there to make certain he was followed.

“ _Hey, where is this mutt taking us? Aren't we here for a crew?”_

“Stay with me, I think he's taking us to them.”

“ _The dog? Yeah right? You doing Red Eye again?”_

Keeping his mouth shut, Bob pressed onward deep into the forest. The shadow of a crumbling building loomed up in the distance. Several gasps interrupted the channel. This was not on any map. On the side of the building, ivy wreathed letters spelled out  _SOMNUS Institution_ . 

Ein paused in the frame that at one time used to support a door, the shattered glass littered the ground. His front paws popped off the ground as he barked soundlessly. But with each bounce, the monitor on Bob's wrist blazed for a moment before going back to just above baseline. 

_What is this, a vintage Lassie episode?_ “Follow him.”

In a flash of white butt fur, Ein vanished into the dim corridors. Grimly Bob followed the dog noting the footprints in the dust going in, but not coming back out. The only set that exited was paw prints. His heartbeat thundered in his ears. This was impossible! This wasn't happening. Couldn't be happening.

This building had been abandoned years ago. The moldering ceilings sagged from exposure. Paint pealed from the cinder block walls. The air had a musty scent about it growing worse the further he pressed inward passing room after iron doored room. This place reminded him of a hospital of some sort, a high security one by the heft of those doors complete with external slide-locks. Stenciled letters and numbers in his headlamp seemed to denote room blocks … wards. 

Recently the dust had been disturbed by three sets of shoes and one set of bare feet, along with Ein's paws. Until it changed. A set of different footprints accompanied by drag marks. He followed the paw prints to find Ein staring at him from the center of a room.

Inside that dim chamber-like room they all lay on the filthy floor—chests rising and falling slowly as if sleeping. Drag marks from their feet through the debris showed the tracks and the scuffed footprints of another to the point where they had been dumped. Jet lay on his side with Ed leaning against him. Faye sat keeled over against the far wall. In the center of the room Spike's body lay in a twisted heap with a bottle of sake loosely gripped in his left hand, his discolored right lower arm at an odd angle and swollen. Against the edges of the room the ivory tinge of bones. Dozens upon dozens of skulls lie among the collective of other bones in various signs of decay.

The crew of the  _Bebop_ was incredibly pale, dust covering their prone bodies.

_What the hell happened?_ Bob was far too shocked for a panic attack. 

“Quick, get in here! They're still alive!”

“ _Who?”_ They filed in, the medics moving swift the moment they spied the crew. 

Bob stared in horror at the sight. He knew Jet and their antics. How did someone get the drop on this crew? This badly? A paw pressed against his ankle. He looked down to find Ein standing beside him, panting and watching the medics insert IVs and splint Spike's broken arm. Lucky for him the bones were not through the skin. But none of the crew showed any response what so ever. 

Something else did. The monitor on his wrist blazed to an intense constant low thrum. “What the hell … ”

“ _Hey, do you know these guys?”_

Snapping back to reality, Bob knelt down and stroked Ein's ears. “I do. They're bounty hunters. The big guy is Jet Black. The one with the busted arm is Spike Spiegel. The woman is Faye Valentine. And the girl is Ed.” He wasn't about to try and remember the rest of that. They always called her Ed.

“ _Aside from the broken arm, no obvious trauma. But they've been here unconscious a while. Signs of severe dehydration. We need to get them to a hospital fast. Good thing we brought the rapid transport.”_

Bob picked up Ein and held him close. The dog cuddled into his embrace as they watched the crew carried out one by one on stretchers. How was he going to explain this to the chief? He didn't even want to think about that. First he had to figure out how to get the ship towed back to Alba city.

With a warm tongue, Ein licked his cheek.

* * *

… _There is one enemy you can never run far enough from—the one within yourself …_

Everything felt heavy. Even thoughts behind closed eyes. There was an IV, that much was obvious by the chill traveling up the flesh of the arm. Air against the face, clean air against lips so dry they were cracked. Like some annoying persistent surround sound check, beeps kept a steady discordant cadence. More than one set of rhythms, out of sync.

_Can this be trusted? Am I truly out?_

He cracked open his eyes. A blurred image stood framed by bright lights. Hell, was this death? He breathed slowly, deep as he could, willing his vision to clear as the figure bent closer, clearly seated beside him.

“Jet! Thank God, you're awake.”

_Bob?_

A bout of familiar giggling from off to his left stole his wandering attention. Wearily, Jet lifted his arm and felt the IV tube shift as he rubbed his dry eyes to clear them. An oxygen mask over his face caught his fingers as his sore arm sunk back on top of the covers. He was in a hospital bed, and he felt like absolute shit. Plagued by nausea and cold, his throat dry and every muscle ached like he'd run a marathon.

Nestled into an identical white medical bed with its built in monitors mounted into the wall to his right he spied Ed in a hospital gown ruffling Ein's ears. The corgi lay beside her, sparkling clean from a fresh bath. Ed's eyes had bags beneath them, she was paler and thinner than normal with an IV drip in her arm. Her movements suffered from a lack of coordination, but she smiled and waved. In a hoarse voice she rasped, “Doctor said Ed needs to stay in bed for a bit. But Ein is good medicine woof woof.”

Ein barked softly and nuzzled her hand.

Jet blinked slowly. Toward the foot of his bed, Bob sat in a chair, his hat in his hands. Worry all over his face. “Damn, Jet, what the heck happened to you guys?”

_Bob? What is he doing here?_ It was like thinking through molasses. “I really—” he coughed, his dry throat irritated by the words. Catching his breath he tried to swallow saliva but there wasn't much there. “Not sure,” he forced it out.

Bob scratched the back of his neck. “Well, it's a good thing your message reached me. The doctors said you all were pretty close to the end. Another couple hours tops and there wouldn't have been a hope in the galaxy to stabilize you.”

It was slow, creeping into his mind. Jet raised an eyebrow. “Message?” Speech was hard, but he had to know what the hell was Bob talking about?

He blinked and lifted a hand. “The message you sent me. To come to Mendel Crater with EMTs and military grade … ” his expression slackened. “You sent that … right? You know, SMC? Save My Crew?”

It took a lot of effort, but Jet slid his gaze back toward Ein nestled against Ed. The little dog lifted his head and looked back at him, smiling cheekily.

Jet heaved a smile and offered a thumbs up. “Good boy. That's over.”

“I'll say, at least you're all together.”

In the silence Jet heard the beeping of the monitors. His, Ed's and… there were two more sets.

He turned his eyes toward the window at the far end. This was a long glass partitioned room in ICU. Out the window Alba city tower reached toward the evening cast heavens in the distance. In the other two beds Faye lay closest to him dressed in a hospital gown with her arms at her sides, an IV below her left inner elbow. Her eyes still closed, skin pale beneath the oxygen mask. She'd been in cryogenic sleep before, Jet now imagined that it might have looked much the same. Down near the window, Spike lay furthest from him. Scruffy, he desperately needed a shave beneath the oxygen mask strapped to his face. His right arm, bulked in a cast, lay propped up on a pillow at his side. His eyes were also closed, gaunt features slack. Both of them had circles beneath their eyes dark enough to be black eyes. Neither stirred. Beneath the blankets he swore more lines and tubes ran back and forth. Of course Jet could feel the evidence of more beneath his own blanket. A new benchmark, the roughest that this crew had ever been reduced to as a whole. After the asteroid amusement park they were still ambulatory. He knew if he tried to get up he'd get a close up view of the tile floor.

He smiled at their sight. Relief. They were in good hands now. He could rest easy now. “Have they woken?”

“Not yet. Ed's only been awake for about an hour. I talked the staff into letting Ein stay here, they've been taking turns walking him. Hey, let me go get the doctor. I'm sure there's some stuff to tell you. I … I need to get back to the station. By the way, I got the _Bebop_ towed back to the bay. But I have to tell you, it looks like someone riffled through it.”

_Riffled through it? Who …_ again the gears turned slowly until they dredged up the obvious answer. _The six pack!_ He heaved a sigh. “Thanks for the save Bob, appreciate it.”

The moment the rather bewildered Bob left the room he smiled directly at Ein. “And thank you, boy!”

* * *

_Dehydration, nothing more._ Jet sat up in bed watching the glorious sunrise through the window, casting brilliant light over Spike and Faye's sleeping forms.

_No,_ he frowned at the choice of his thoughts, _ **sleeping**_ _turns out to not be right._

Half a day followed by a full night had passed and neither one had so much as stirred. Staff bustled in and out disrupting his own rest over night. They had kept their words soft in the dim room as they'd obsessed over the vitals. Jet caught snippets, enough to piece together a vague picture of the truth.

They were stable, hearts beating strong and breathing on their own … with no signs of approaching consciousness. Coma, had not been said lightly. There was more, but Jet had trouble catching it over the steady cacophony of the monitors beeping. The mark of so many heartbeats, out of sync, trapped together in the monitoring beds of this single room.

To his left Ed slept in her bed with Ein snoring peacefully in her embrace. His little dog paws twitching in his sleep. Each puff of his breath stirred her hair. She smiled, nestling closer to him.

_Good. She's still alright._

A nurse walked in heading toward Faye's bed.

Jet cleared his throat. The moment she glanced his way he asked softly, partly to keep his voice from cracking. “What's going on with them?”

Her eyes widened nervously. “I uhh … privacy sir, I shouldn't say.”

He flexed his artificial fist, fixing her with the sternest glare he could manage and hoping it was enough in his faded condition. “They're family.”

She did a double take between them all, choking on her own breath as she pointed between the four of them.

“Please.” Jet croaked, his gruff faltering and proving he wasn't back to himself yet. It turned to desperation. “I have to know.”

The doctor lingered in the door, her hands gripped their charts. With a soft dismissive gesture to the nurse, she approached Jet's bed and sat on the chair beside it. “Spiegel and Valentine … ”

“Spike and Faye,” he clarified nodding their direction.

For a moment she started, the expression faded as she tapped the charts. “Spike and Faye, your friends are not responding as positively as you two are. Yes, you all came in with serious cases of dehydration. We expected it being essential to monitor for at least a few days. But … they should have woken by now. There are no signs as to why they have both sunken into full comas. Do you recall how you wound up in that building?”

Jet ground his fist. “I don't even know how to begin to explain what happened to us.”

“The policeman brought back a strange recording of a barely audible sound wave permeating the building you were found in. We could tell enough from the signature that it was designed to effect brainwave functionality. Certain frequencies have been know to cause disturbances in the body, especially consciousness. There are cases of unbalanced fans causing issues. But that still doesn't add up. They're no longer subjected to this sound wave, and I can tell you their brains are not suppressed, they are very active.”

“What?” That caught his attention, he tried to sit up further and the ache in his body complained forcing a grunt from him.

“Easy.” The doctor held out a hand and looked to the monitor. “You're still recovering.”

“Obviously … ” He panted a breath, easing back down and listening to the beep of his heart slowing back to a steady rhythm. “What did you mean about their activity … why are they not waking?”

“Nothing we've tried so far has brought them out of it. The scans show strange patterns as though they should be wake up. But they just … don't.”

He reached out a hand to her. “They have to wake up. We're a team … they're my family.”

She glanced over her shoulder at Faye and Spike. “We're doing the best we can. But to be honest, Mr. Black … ehhh,” she looked down at the chart, “Jet, you all were pretty damn close to the brink. Your friends, if they do wake, have a lengthy recovery ahead of them.”

An alarm went off in another room and the doctor ran out toward it leaving Jet more concerned than relieved.

He laid his head back coaxing his own body to get on with recovery he no longer had time for. Very little could be done from lying in this bed attached to the monitors. He needed to be free of this. He needed to see what was on their screens and get to the bottom of this. “Hang in there, guys. The ol' Black Dog's coming.”

_If Morpheus is behind this … he's going to pay!_


	13. Session 13

_ **Session 13** _

“Ed feels better. Time to get up.”

For the eighth time that morning alone the nurse gently pushed her back down onto the bed. “Not yet.”

“But Ed is fine now.” She popped back upright in the bed, gangly limbs discarding the blanket nearly onto the floor.

“No. Not until the doctor clears you.”

“Ein says Ed is alright.” She hugged Ein with his paws dangling over her arms.

“Is Ein a doctor?”

Ed leaned over and looked him in the eyes. “Ein, are you a doctor?”

The dog sneezed, his ears flopped forward.

“Ein says, close enough.”

The nurse shook her head, weariness wrinkling her eyes. “Please just stay there until _our_ doctor says it's ok.”

“Nyyyyooooo!” She whined, falling backward against the bed in an over-dramatic pout.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jet watched this play out, unable to fight the smile that climbed to his face. At the moment it was the small things. After two days of rest, Ed's irrepressible banter had returned. It still seemed odd to see her dressed in the hospital garments. She'd flung the blanket back and sat with her legs folded, long mint colored pants and the matching side-tied wrap top covered her more than her typical cloths did when her arms were raised. Ein curled into a ball in her lap.

Jet laid back in his bed still feeling a bit run down despite the couple days of rest. He wasn't quite as eager to get up … except for one thing. His eyes drifted to the other two still lying in their beds, unresponsive despite everything the doctors had thrown at the invisible barriers keeping them imprisoned.

A straight up shot of adrenaline had been unable to put a dent in things. Spike and Faye still lay there. Not even his artificial eye responded when opened, proof that at the very least Spike was dug in deep.

“What was that. Ein?” Ed looked down into the dog's eyes, he whined up at her softly. “Really?”

Jet glanced back at her, it seemed silly … and yet apparently Ein had sent off the instructions that saved their lives. He didn't have a better explanation of how Bob learned about their fate. So, maybe it was worth humoring her. “What is it?”

With a serious expression Ed locked eyes with Jet. “Ein says that Morpheus is a stoner.”

Wrinkling his brow, he cocked his head. “Wha'?”

She looked down as Ein snuffed and shook his head. “Oooohhhh … _has_ a stone … not a stoner.”

“Has a stone? What the hell does that mean?”

She shrugged and pointed across the room. “When are Spike-person and Faye-Faye going to wake up?”

With a sigh, he shook his head. Wishing he could get up and do something. Hug her, hold Spike and Faye's hands, find some way to let them know they weren't alone. But the support lines were still in him. He had yet to leave the bed. “I don't know, kiddo.”

They had to bide their time.

* * *

“We are going back to the _Bebop_ without them? Ed doesn't want to leave them behind!” Ed tugged on Jet's pant leg as he rolled the door open.

“I told you, Ed. Until Spike and Faye wake up we're not equipped to handle their condi—” He stopped mid-word and stared into the living room. His hand thwapped his forehead with a solid smack. “My ship!”

The living room lay in shambles. Debris scattered everywhere. Items from the kitchen, the cargo bay, even Faye's overabundance of clothing littered the floor and dragged up and down the various staircases. Bob hadn't been joking when he said someone tossed the ship. They'd been thorough!

The tapping of metal on metal turned his head toward the lower corridor, the light on the stair cast a humongous familiar shadow that anywhere else might have elicited fear.

Jet's teeth squealed as his fists pumped. He glared down at Ein. “I want all six of those miscreants of yours front and center, now! Sick 'em!”

With a growl and his hackles fully raised, Ein scrambled in a charge down the stairs through the living room and vaulted down into the blue glow of the lower corridor. The space erupted with metallic hisses and screams, clatters of objects that were clearly in the way.

Seconds later, four of the chicken sized robotic compys stumbled up the stairs, scraps of debris hanging off of their metal scales. The moment they spied Jet, they halted in a colliding line. None of them moved aside from shaking so hard their scales rattled.

The clicking of Ein's claws echoed as he stalked up the steps and darted down the kitchen corridor. The crash of a bowl falling to the floor followed by an alarmed scream precluded the little dog carrying Huŏ, the red marked one, as he slashed his tiny metal claws uselessly at the neck he couldn't reach.

Ein slammed him down in front of Jet.

Huŏ scrambled to his feet, hissing … until Jet's artificial hand clamped around his neck, lifting his taloned feet from the deck. Immediately he kicked and twisted, trying to free himself. The moment Jet stared in his eyes, Huŏ froze.

“You freeloading little shits! One of you is missing.” Red, black, blue, yellow, green … gold wasn't here. “Where is Qi?”

The four on the floor looked to one another. If diminutive robot dinosaurs could perform puppy eyes they were doing it.

That did nothing to placate Jet as he stared straight into Huŏ's eyes, all the frustration of the recent events unleashed. “Where is your ring leader?”

Ein padded into the room in a huff. He stood eye to eye with Shuĭ, the black marked one, and bared his teeth. The most cooperative of the group, flicked his nose toward the refrigerator.

_Of all the … this is the one Spike taught to fetch him beer. This isn't the time for … unless. No, they didn't!_ “Ed, open the door.”

She dashed down the steps and pried open the small door. Inside they found Qi's huddled metallic body. She touched him. The nudge was enough to unbalance him, the stiff body tipped forward and clanked to the floor. “Batteries dead. Need's juice.”

“Go, put him under the bonsai growth lights.” Jet slid a glance to Shuĭ, “I'm ashamed of you. You're usually the responsible one. Why didn't you let him out?”

Shuĭ pointed a claw up at Huŏ and chittered a massive barrage in what seemed to be an angry tone. Soon the others joined in, pushing and jostling one another.

“Enough!” Jet bellowed. “Huŏ, I would bet everything that you were behind this.”

He scowled, crossing his tiny arms.

“Putting your leader on ice is cold.” Empty handed, Ed vaulted up onto the back of the couch.

Jet rolled his eyes and rubbed his temples. “Seriously guys, we didn't need this. I wanted to come back to this ship and just start searching for answers. But left on your own you just had to trash the place. That's it. You've lost your privileges. From now on everyone of you are getting powered down when we leave the ship.”

Their muzzles turned to the deck in unison.

Depositing Huŏ among the others he pointed, “Put it all back, now! Every piece. I want this ship the way we left it.”

Huŏ hissed and stomped his feet. A low growl stopped him as he looked over his shoulder up into Ein's snarling face. The feisty compy stomped off, taking a handful of the debris with him. The other four had already started.

Turning on his heel, Jet made for the bridge.

“What is Jet doing?”

He didn't look over his shoulder as he climbed the steps. “Researching why Spike and Faye aren't waking up. Just cause the doctors don't know doesn't mean the info isn't out there.”

A moment later he heard bare feet racing up behind him. As he sat down in the cockpit he spied Ed flopping down, her computer in front of her as she pulled her goggles down. She cracked her fingers and the little screens lit up.

The doctors had no luck, but Jet hadn't been able to put into words what had happened to them. There had to be answers out there somewhere. No way he was going to leave them like that. If there was a way to reunite the crew, he was determined to find it.

* * *

Stillness.

The only motion betraying they were alive was the rise and fall of their chests. They breathed. Jet stood between their beds, sorrow carved into his features. He had hoped that coming back today he would have an answer, at least a clue. But very little had come to light.

A smattering about Somnus buried in redacted files only hinted at some sort of research at the site many years ago. But none of the materials seemed to have survived. He would have put Ed on that trail, but when he'd tried to interrupt her she had turned and hissed at him. All it seemed they had gained was a restless night.

The doctor lingered in the doorway, she turned to try and leave apparently before being noticed. But Ein whined in her direction before putting his paws on Faye's bed and nosing her limp hand.

“Talk to me, doc. Any change?” He couldn't look away from them, paranoid of missing a rogue twitch.

She came to their sides and shook her head. “I am sorry. Whatever is wrong with them is beyond our understanding. They remained unresponsive yet again all through the night.”

Ein shambled over to Spike's bed and cocked his head. After a pause on the left side, he wandered over to the right and put his paws on the blanket. Ed came up behind him and scratched his ears. He hopped on his back paws. “You want up boy?” Without asking if it was alright, she picked him up and placed him carefully beside Spike's broken arm.

“Ed,” Jet reached forward, “he probably shouldn't be up there.”

Wriggling up closer, Ein snuffled at Spike's motionless face. His nose pressed against the right eye. Once. Twice. Three times. He looked at Ed and whined.

“Get him off, Ed. He might disconnect something.”

But she wasn't listening to him. Ed stepped closer, jaw slack, eyes wide. “Do you think so, boy?”

Ein barked, his paw batting at Spike's chest.

“True. But it depends on how deep it is. Ed might not be able to reach it. Ed doesn't know if it can be … ”

Curling his lip, Ein growled at her before turning back to nose Spike's closed eye.

The doctor stared at the exchange, she held up a hand. “I would prefer it if the dog didn't do that.”

“Wait.” Jet held up a hand. “I think he's trying to tell us something.”

“Spike?”

“No … Ein. Talk to me, Ed … what's he getting at?”

A slow smile grew on Ed's face as she turned to Jet. “Ein has a plan. We can see what Spike sees.”

The doctor blinked. “The back of his eyelids?”

“No.” Ed pointed. “Spike's eye, we can steal the images.”

“His eye?” Jet scratched his head. “But that's … well it has a micro-computer. But it can't be hacked. It's not wire-less.”

“So?” Ed's grin intensified. “We wire it. Any computer can be hacked.”

* * *

Ed's computer sat on the table, she perched on the edge of Spike's bed madly typing away and exhaling in frustration as time after time entering the codes she hoped would work—didn't. She detested that Jet had been right thus far, hours into trying to circumvent the system lock down on the artificial organ had gone nowhere. At the moment he was sleeping in the bedside chair, Ein snoozed in his lap.

Ed growled. _This is fitting. Spike's eye is as determined to keep it's secrets as Spike himself. Stubborn, stubborn, locked up tight!_

At the start of this, with the help of the doctor, they had used a laparoscopic incision into Spike's temple to explore the cavity behind his eye. The mechanics were all there, packed in a neat little bio-capsule attached to the back of the eye ridge by small screws. The mechanical eyeball had a fiber optic bundle bridging to the micro-computer. From there another optic bundle had been spliced to what was left of his organic optic nerve. To everyone's shock there had been an access port on the external edge of the micro-computer. Even though it was in as deep as Ed had feared, that was no small trick plugging a cable into such a tiny port through the remote controls in the scope.

But they had it. A wire now taped to the side of Spike's head ran across the bed and into Tomato with the blank screen waiting to receive data.

Ed cursed as the computer's audio informed of another failed code, almost mocking her. “Come on! Spike is counting on us! We need to see what Spike sees! Now! Let—Ed—in!”

Her finger jammed the enter button.

This time the sound was different.

Ed inhaled sharply as the prompt spilled across he screen.

_Calibration previously completed. Do you wish to enable the visual calibration program?_

“Yesyesyesyes!”

The blank screen flickered. She pouted. “Nyyooo! Ed was wrong … looks like it won't wo—”

Her words cut short. On the screen an image formed, like a curtain rising. Her heart raced as she realized it was the eyelid opening. The outline of something tall and stone-like loomed, filling the screen. She leaned closer trying to pick out details.

Yes, that was stone. A very dark flecked stone of some sort. Granite?

A hand slammed against the surface, filling the view.

Ed nearly tumbled off the bed, screaming in surprise as she barely saved toppling to the floor.

The hand clawed at the lip at the base of the stone … slipping in the blood that caked the pale skin. As it sank down the surface the fingers left a red trail smeared behind.

She grabbed the screen the room echoed with her piercing scream, “Spike!”


	14. Session 14

_ **Session 14** _

“Spike!”

The shrill scream wrenched Jet awake. Ein tumbled to the floor from his lap with a startled yelp as Jet nearly toppled there himself, only saving himself with a quick catch on the edge of the seat. Dashing underneath the bed, Ein hid there, peaking out and blinking the sleep from his eyes. Jet whipped a glance at the medical monitors, the readout hadn't altered. Spike's pulse remained steady as ever, stubbornly refusing to change.

Ed's white-knuckled grip on the edges of her computer alarmed him. There were only a handful of times he had seen fear from her.

Pushing up to his feet, he joined her at the bedside. “What is it?” On the screen he watched the black rise up like a shutter lifting. A bleak bone-riddled landscape of a deep pit appeared. At the lower edges of the image … blood covered fingers pressed against the ground. The image shifted wildly reminding him of someone unsteady on their feet. “Wait … is that … did it work?”

“Yes yes!” Ed frantically smashed the keys on the keyboard. “Sound … sound is vibration. Vibrations the eye might pick up. Sensitive. Very sensitive. Need the program.”

His heart raced at the image. In the vision, if Spike was getting up, he wasn't moving very fast. They couldn't see much other than the graven ground. If he'd understood Ed's jargon correctly, the kid was about to pull off another fantastic feat. “Do you think it will work?”

“Sound is vibration.” She repeated hunching tighter over the keyboard. “Just need the program that untangles it.” No sing song tone, no rocking back and forth. The kid was hard as a rock, steel-eyed as she stabbed the keys. “And here we go … please work!”

After she hit the key, a window appeared with a fish graphic swimming around the word _Buffering …_ “Come on! Work! Give us Spike's words! Let us hear him speak.”

The fish graphic swallowed the word and vanished …

Harsh breathing crackled over the speakers. The sound was raw, synthesized through the program—but they could hear Morpheus's slow laughter over the panted breaths. _“Oh yes. They have taken your physical bodies from my building, but no matter. Trapped on life support this only means we get to do this longer. I am the master of patience. I told you no matter what happens to you here, you cannot die in my realm. Eventually you will be completely under my control. It will be so much simpler if you surrender. But you just don't give up.”_

“ _No. I don't.”_ Spike looked up, affording them a monoscopic-vision of the robed madman, looking spry as ever upon a raised dais, the floor between them shimmering with a veritable river of blood littered with skeletons. _“Kind of a bad habit of mine.”_

“ _Stubborn.”_ Morpheus held out a hand. _“Just like your father.”_

“ _Huh?”_ Every breath was hitched, forced in and out. _“How the fuck would you know?”_

The answering smile was chilling. _“Because … I knew him.”_

Jet's blood ran cold as he stared unblinking at the screen. His hand clamped on Ed's shoulder, “Don't close that program!”

* * *

Spike's legs trembled beneath him, nausea raked him stemming from a stabbing pain behind his right eye. He couldn't spare a hand to try and massage it away. His suit was torn, the sodden strips of cloth more blackish-purple than blue now. The flesh beneath bled from the relentless savage poundings. For a moment he hung his head, trying to catch his breath, hand gripping the slice along his ribs, hot blood seeping out between his fingers.

There was no escape now. It was hopeless, but he would not lay down. That wasn't his way.

Around his right ankle Morpheus had manifested a chain, the other end attached to a massive stone monument easily twice his height.

_A chain … like one might use for a dog. I am not a dog!_

For the countless time, he tried to imagine the links separating. Focusing long and hard, sweat beaded on his forehead, pouring down in rivulets. The pointless effort left him lightheaded and staggering to catch his weight against the stone, only keeping his feet by his shoulder rammed against the surface.

Escape was impossible as his will power bled away through his fingers. He would not beg for release. He knew that would prove futile. As futile as the hits who'd pleaded with his own gun for mercy …

“Spike, aren't you proud of what you've done? The life you've led?”

He didn't have time to suss out what Morpheus's taunt had meant. A nearby skeleton rose up in a shuddering gait toward him, mist fleshed out the body. Vicious manifested before him, steel-eyed and with a sneer on his face. “You are nothing but a failure.” The katana hissed like a snake's venomous kiss as he drew it from the scabbard.

Spike gritted his teeth as sweat blossomed on his forehead anew. He shambled backward, scraping across the surface of the stone, trying to evade the sword strike. This was hardly the first time Morpheus had thrown Vicious at him.

_This isn't real. This body isn't real. These injuries are not real. None of this is real. None of this can hurt you!_

An intense pain tore through his gut. He looked down, his bloodied hands gripping the blade thrust a third of its length into his stomach. His head fell back, staring up into Vicious victorious smile. He couldn't breathe against the shaft of metal. His foot slipped in the blood slick on the floor.

_This … isn't … real …_

“This is how it usually goes with most victims who defy my gift of their dreams.” Morpheus stalked down into the chamber imprisoning Spike and laughed low. “I get to dig into the dark corners, force all the skeletons out of the closet. And oh, you. My my, what a rare treat. You don't have a closet—you have an entire mausoleum.”

“Bas … tard … ”

Morpheus chuckled. “Amusing that you would say that considering the sins of your past. What would your victims say?” With a wave of his hand more skeletons rose to a chorus of cries.

“Don't do this! I'm loyal!” “I didn't! I was framed!” “Please, I didn't have a choice!” “Let me go, I'll disappear … you'll never see me again.” “You can't kill me, I have a family!”

Spike tried to cover his ears, but his fingers refused to relinquish the grip on the sword blade. Vicious's harsh judgmental glare and cold voice bore into him, “Spike, there is nothing in this world that can wash the blood from your hands … why would you want to even try? _This_ is what you are.”

“Fuck you! No … you never understood me!” Spike's foot slipped, the blade jarring in his gut. “Ahhh!”

With a laugh, Morpheus circled the monolith. “For all this, it is not the crux of that chapter of your life. No. His betrayal was hard enough, but it was because of what it ultimately cost you …” he snapped his fingers.

Over the past days Morpheus had already forced Spike to face a virtual conga line of victims and comrades alike. The fighting barely ended before it started again leaving him hovering in a perpetual state just above death … wishing for a death that would never come.

_There is one enemy you can never run far enough from—the one within yourself._ Spike laid his head back against the stone, clenching his eyes tight. Those words had been his own, spoken in a half daze in the middle of the night … not long before he had turned his back on the syndicate. He hadn't fathomed the truth in those feverish words.

_That asshole, how did he know? Every year, on the anniversary of that cursed day I died to leave the Red Dragons, I face this bullshit … the only way to keep my sanity is the bottom of a god-damned bottle. It couldn't hurt me if I wasn't conscious enough to feel it._ To his shame his knees threatened to give out. _Every sad sap I ever put a bullet in, every Dragon I betrayed by leaving them to Vicious's nonexistent mercy … every life I took in my wake to the top … they came to execute their vengeance. Every! Year!_

“I am alone. I am alone. I am alone.” He forced his eyes open—the mantra had not worked.

Julia now stood in Vicious's place, the Colt Commander in her firm grip forcing Spike to stare down the barrel. Her glacial eyes didn't move.

For only a moment, Spike's pupils contracted. At length he half-lidded his eyes, palms backed against the stone, the sword had vanished with Vicious leaving the wound to bleed.

Her eyes stared into his, they said enough, _there is no way to ever outrun the enemy within._

Morpheus laughed. “Though I must say, that was a sporting try.” He snapped his fingers.

BANG!

The bullet slammed into Spike. It tore through his chest nailing the aorta as he twisted awkwardly. Julia's dead-eyed stare filling his vision. “You are your own worst enemy.” Blood smeared down the stone as she walked away from him.

Undying, Spike lay there unable to find enough air to speak, his trembling hand reached out for the figure leaving him. Drowning in the pain and confusion, he couldn't even ponder which hurt worse the wound or the vision.

Morpheus appeared beside him. Cruel fingers lifted and turned his body in agonizing spasms. He forced Spike to stare up at the blood-drenched writing on the gravestone.

SPIKE SPIEGEL

Born June 26th, 2044

Died June 27th, 2068

Morpheus cackled. “You dared to try and play house. You killed yourself, sacrificed everything you ever were for a petty dream, only to have it slip through your hands without an explanation. Grave fool!”

His eyes widened, he couldn't help it as he coughed up blood, the angle making it all the more difficult to clear his airway. _No, Morpheus is wrong. The graveyard … she'd been there, waiting. Not the first time. She hadn't been there because … Julia had loved me. She'd tried to protect me. She'd died in my arms on the rooftop when she'd wanted to run … oh God … she stayed and died because of me!_ He squeezed his eyes tight against the pain. Everything shifted. The moment his weight was released it dropped like a rock.

Morpheus withdrew, smiling like a Cheshire cat.

_He's getting inside your head … don't let him. Don't let him know he's gained ground. Stone cold, unreadable._ Pushing up from the debris strewn floor, the chain clanked as Spike gave a choking laugh. This was Morpheus's game. To the brink and then pull him back enough to thrust him into it again. Murder, rinse, repeat. “I'm used to taking beatings. So this isn't going to work. You can't break me physically. Not even Vicious succeeded.”

Morpheus brought his hands together, cupping the amulet around his neck. “I know. That's why it's not what I am doing. Long ago the groundwork was laid. Long ago someone already broke you like the wild stallion you were. And all this time you have been oblivious to the key of your undoing.”

Spike narrowed his eyes, _what is he talking about?_

Two teenage boys appeared—Spike and Vicious with one hand over the other, tied together in a ceremony as they spoke the words of the blood oath. Mao appeared behind them, his eyes fixed on Vicious.

“The man who saved you sacrificed you for the sake of another. An unworthy disobedient deviant who could not be controlled to the point where he slaughtered his own maker when you abandoned your vow. You knew—the moment the bounty appeared you knew who did it and even why. The sense of duty hammered into you poisoned your rationality, led you to abandon the sanctuary you had found, the new loyalties you had fostered. And all for a dead master who had betrayed you for a worthless cause. A blind sacrifice. That's all you ever amounted to.”

Spike's eyes trembled, the truth too damn close to the bone. Morpheus had him there, dead to rights.

“And that isn't even the half of it. There is ... So. Much. More.” He caressed the amulet, eyeing Spike. “You are such a complicated mess. I admit I didn't recognize you at first. But truly I should have.”

“I have never seen you in my life.”

His smile creased around his eyes. “Yes, you have. But you have certainly changed since then, perspective is everything.” With a wave of his hand, the man before him changed. More than twenty years shaved off. He wore a long white coat over a dress suit and a discomforting expression grew as his glasses caught the light. The emblem on his coat came into Spike's focus. SOMNUS.

He swallowed, nearly choking at the shock. The image was vaguely familiar, but his tortured brain stumbled over it.

Calmly he straightened his tie. “I admit it, you were very young when we met. But I remember you … a tender young boy held in your father's arms.”

Spike gripped his head, fighting to remember the snatches of that dream. _That_ _ **had**_ _been a real memory! When was it? Where was it?_

“Aww, the poor boy can hardly remember his parents. What a dreadful shame.” His voice hardened like iron. “That's the clincher. All this time you have forgotten who they are. Yet another reason the day on that stone bares such graven significance. June 27th, the day you became an orphan. The moment you realized they were dead you banished every memory of them. Can't even remember the faces of the people who gave you life, who loved you so dearly and sacrificed so much. What an ungrateful little shit you were to do a thing like that. Shall I remind you? How about a push … ” Morpheus held out the amulet, the lid slightly ajar, the stone within it glowed.

A shadow cast out over the ground. Spike stared up in disbelief into their smiling faces.

Faces! This time … he could see them! Both dressed in lab coats, his father was tall and lanky, barely filling out his suit. The thick rimmed glasses hardly flattered the man's soft features. His eyes were a honeyed brown, the hair dark and just as unruly as Spike's. But he didn't look like a fighter. He was a scientist, through and through. As was … his mother holding a green-haired toddler with an untied shoelace and a bandaid on his knee. Her eyes were vibrant, wide and colorful like a galaxy. Ringlets fell over her shoulders, a deep green close to Spike's own hair color. She stood with an air of authority and inner power. But that smile … that forgiving smile. He knew it the moment he saw it.

Trembling, he fought to stand, reaching a hand toward them. All he wanted in this galaxy was to feel their warm embrace again.

“Ahhh.” Morpheus stood between them, savoring Spike's struggle. “May I reintroduce the good doctors Lumen and Lyra Spiegel. Mars's leading minds in neuro-science, employed by the government. It was a shame they refused my offer.”

“Offer … ” Spike narrowed his eyes. The carnival … he'd been a very young boy back on that distant day. Mother had taken him while Father had to walk off with someone … his eyes focused on Morpheus. The name written on the badge of his lab coat. “Dr. Lysander Selinofoto.” They had met!

He placed a hand to his chest and half bowed. “The same. Things would have turned out differently if Lumen hadn't been a stickler and instead shared his research with me. He failed to understand the power it would unlock.”

Spike shook his head, still hunched over, fighting to stay conscious. “Research … what research?”

“You were a mere boy. Of course they didn't tell you of their masterful program. They were on the cutting edge. Discovered a compound that reconnected neural pathways. All Lumen and Lyra saw were restoring what patients had lost through injury or disease. Pathetic. They failed to see what their compound could _truly_ achieve if it were adequately applied.”

The plaguing nightmare rumbled back, the overheard words— _If we don't surrender it and agree to work with them … they're going to take Spike and hold him hostage, force us to comply_.

He loathed how his voice shook. “You … you stole their research!”

Morpheus flashed a smile. “How I would have **loved** to have gotten my hands on you. What an amazing test subject you would have been. So young … so pliable. What a shame you ended up as you did. A stubborn fool. No matter. I have you now, and I mean not to let you slip through my fingers this time.” He caressed the amulet. “Here is where the interesting part comes in. I'm afraid you are incorrect. I never got my hands on their work because they went into hiding. By the time I learned they were in that slum crater Deseado they were already dead. Another organization had already attempted to get their hands on them and also failed. Though they were far less tolerant of the refusal to cooperate and put out a hit on them.” The grin grew sickeningly sweet. “Do you know who that was? Of course you do, you just were never told the truth.”

Spike dragged himself upright, trembling with fury. _How can this ass speak so casually about this?_

He waved a hand and the mists swirled over a rising skeleton, forming a very familiar stout figure. “After all … you served the very man who ordered their hit.”

He barely had the breath for it as his weight lurched forward, “Mao Yenrai.”

“Never told you, did he. The man who forged you into a tool for the Red Dragons—made you an orphan.”

That was a blow he could never prepare for, Spike's knees completely gave out, dumping him onto his hands and knees. He gasped for air, fighting with the shock. _It can't be true … there's no way that could be the truth of it. Mao wouldn't have … would he?_

“Mao Yenrai didn't know when he stumbled across you years later in that pool hall. As far as he'd known **that** missing child had probably succumbed to the wasteland of that crater, as was the nature of survival of the fittest. It was a shock for him to learn he'd purchased the child of previous two marks.”

Spike snapped a gaze at him. _Purchased?_

“Oh yes, he paid for the little runt that conned him. You were bought and paid for. But he only learned about the connection after. He knew—shortly after taking you in. He knew damn well as he molded you into a duty-bound little shit. So unlike your father, you would serve the organization he refused to on pain of death. Ohhh, I'm sorry … did finding that out break you?”

“It's … not … true … ” He couldn't move, each breath harder than the last. Spike was suffocating from the weight of this revelation. Buried memories of his parents rushing like a torrent—fear and paranoia in their eyes as they'd held him tight, too tight. They had known they were hunted. What had they hoped would become of him? What had they dreamed their only child would grow up to be? For most of his life he'd blindly served, not just the organization, but the _very man_ who had orchestrated the murder his parents. _It's all a lie … my entire life … it's all a lie!_

Morpheus clicked his tongue. “Many a Red Dragon has ended up in my clutches. And Yenrai apparently had a loose tongue when lubricated by liquor. I had but to search their captive minds to discover the truth. This is what made it so easy to keep you here, even while two of your friends slipped from my grasp. The amount of shit that you never dealt with in your life, all the suppressed regrets, the skeletons you have collected in that bloodbath that was your life … it is delicious. Now … if you will excuse me, I believe I have left you with enough to ponder while I attend to your friend and _her_ baggage.”

A passage opened in the wall, Faye's frantic sobbing tore Spike from his stupor. “Faye!” He scrambled to his feet, racing until the chain jerked taught, throwing him to the floor and forcing the air out of him. He reached toward her panicked eyes as the portal closed, leaving him alone in the darkness smothered beneath the avalanche of his shattering past.

Did Morpheus even know, **that** … more than anything … hurt him. Knowing his _family_ was in danger and being rendered incapable of helping them. His tears fell, hot drops against his clenched fists against the floor. He inhaled deeply and screamed his rage into the darkness.

* * *

Jet's hand ached from gripping the guard rail on Spike's hospital bed. He ground his teeth. “Ed. I don't care what it takes—we're getting them out.”


	15. Session 15

_ **Session 15** _

The walls of the sealed cryo pod seemed to press in on Faye. Only faint lights glimmered in the chamber stacked with pods upon pods. Serene sleeping beings held within each one. There was nothing serene about Faye's thoughts. She shivered, not from the cold—but from fear. Was this real or another illusion?

All around her the silence was crushing. Only the sound of her own cries to accompany her for an untold passage of time. She had long since screamed herself hoarse.

A brief flash opened in the chamber wall. A change in an otherwise unchanging world filled with nothing but immense loss. It caught her eyes, tearing them from staring at the lid of the pod that kept her imprisoned. In the distance of that gap a blur floated through. Further back in a tunnel stood a figure she knew.

Spike glared at her, arms crossed with a look of abject scorn. Without a word, he turned his back and stormed away.

Pounding her fists on the lid. “Spike!” She thrashed against it. “No! Don't go! Please, don't leave me here!”

Laughter echoed. The vile voice of Morpheus as he stalked around her chamber. Every peel left her heart shuddering.

Hot tears poured down her cheeks. When she raised her hands to wipe them, it drew the tubes implanted in her scarred arms along. She closed her eyes, trying to banish the image reflected in the clear lid. The post shuttle crash scars … all those scars! She was a hideous mess. How could she even be alive?

The cryo chamber, years of isolation. Decades of unwilling sleep. Her damp fingers traced paths on the lid. No one had asked her. No one had told her the cost. Everything familiar, everyone she knew had vanished from her life. Gone. Parents, family, friends …

“Were they ever _really_ your friends?” Morpheus ran his fingers over the controls outside the pod.

Her heart raced.

“Think about it, Faye. Were they there to remind you who you were when you woke? Were they there for you at all? No. Not one of them. Classmates, co-workers, teammates … and yes, even your family. Once you were put on ice, they forgot all about you. When you were brought out again no one even knew your real name. What a pitiful shame.”

“No! Let me out! I can't lose myself! I can't do this again!”

“Again? But look at yourself. You're a wreck after that accident. You haven't been through it.”

Her body moved, but it shouldn't be able to. Not with the extensive damage. She gripped her hair and practically tore it out. “Ahhh! This isn't real … there was … I awoke … I wasn't even on Earth anymore … I fled into space. I found … yes … I was with others!”

Morpheus grinned. All around him the figures rose up out of the floor. Men she had conned. Women she had stolen from. Hundreds of victims spanning the years. People she had sidled up to and taken everything that wasn't tied down. One by one they turned their back on her. Disappearing, leaving her behind in a cold void of … nothing.

“They were nothing but a means to an end.” Morpheus steepled his fingers. “Your end.”

The parade of her marks continued, leaving her clawing at the lid. But on the inside there was no latch. _No escape! No escape! No escape!_

“You broke their trust. You are shallower than a puddle on the sidewalk, unable to form a meaningful connection.”

_No! That's not true. I have … I have …_

Morpheus cocked his head. “You have? With whom?”

Practically hyperventilating she stared out into the chamber. “I kept coming back to them.”

“Who? You mean the ones you used?” He snapped his fingers. Spike and Jet appeared, sneering at her.

Flattening her hands on the lid she pleaded, “Guys! Help me!”

“Tsh, why would we want to help a thieving good-for-nothing Romani? If that's what you even are, liar!” Spike crossed his arms.

Jet snorted. “How many times did you steal from us? Break the ship and leave us stranded?”

“Girl, you were nothing but trouble!”

Each word was a dagger in her heart. “No … I mean, maybe at first! But I learned … didn't I? Spike … you and I, remember that time we spent together on the cruise ship?”

Spike's intense narrowed eyes slapped the breath from her. “When you dressed me up like a trophy husband doll and paraded me around like a toy? Yeah! I remember your childish game.”

“But … the time we spent, the stories we told … ” she stared through her splayed fingers against the glass, eyes trembling, “ … we shared … you opened up to me!”

“Huh. You're too stupid to realize that was just bullshit. Who would ever want to get close to a cold hearted bitch like you.”

Her breath caught in her chest. “You don't … you don't mean that!”

Jet tapped Spike's shoulder. “Come on, pard. You were right. Never should have let a woman on board anyway.”

“Stop! Come back!” Tears streamed down her cheeks. “I need you two! Please! Don't leave me here!” The lid wouldn't release her from captivity.

Morpheus appeared before her, his fingers toying with the buttons in a series of beeps. “What a shame. Once more there is no one left in the solar system who cares about you. Whose fault is that, I wonder? No matter, I can end this for you … sort of.” He hit a button and the pod filled with a cold gas.

Her eyelids grew heavy. But the embrace didn't come in full. She lay there, staring as the ice crystals grew, aware of her body freezing in the cryo's grip.

_No … not again … not another span of time … not without them! I need them. I was wrong … so wrong._ A fresh tear tried to fall, stalled by the temperature. A gem on her edge of her vision.

Isolation … the cold and lonely prison seized her again. For how long? How long!

* * *

_A shadow cast from the window onto the apartment's shoddy floor. Spike clutched the splintered door frame. A sound had drawn him out of bed in the middle of the night, the floor cold beneath his bare feet. But something was wrong. That's what sobbing always meant._

“ _Daddy? Did you hurt yourself again?” There wasn't a hammer on the desk with the nail sticking out of the wall. That was the last time Spike had heard something similar, so it seemed the most likely explanation._

_Sitting at the desk by the window, his father turned, eyes puffy from crying. He reached beneath his glasses and tried to wipe the tears away. But the evidence returned as swiftly as he attempted to erase it. Pushing out of the chair, he came down onto his knees, arms held wide. “Come here, Spike.”_

_In the quiet night his hurried steps thumped across the floor. His father scooped him up into his arms, holding him tight, trembling. “Daddy, why are you crying? What's wrong?”_

_His tears soaked into Spike's hair before he released the death grip. Looking down into his son's innocent eyes he forced a smile. “Everything will be alright. Kiddo, because you know what?”_

“ _What?”_

_Gently gripping his shoulder, his father leaned in close, so close Spike could see the pin-pointed pupils adjusting in the dark as he inhaled the familiar cologne. “Never forget—family always protects one another. We'll do what we have to to make sure you're safe.” ..._

Spike opened his eyes. The dim light caught Morpheus's chain around his ankle. The cold from the stone seeped into his back where he leaned against it. Hugging his knees to his chest, he took a deep shuddering breath. “Your plan really worked great … didn't it, Dad.”

Flopping his forehead against his knees he tried to will himself back to sleep in the grips of this wretched world, taking no comfort in the knowledge … **that** had been a real suppressed memory.

* * *

Each beep marked their pulses. Jet stood between the two beds, his hands clenched in fists. He studied their slack faces. Faye lay with her head to the side looking as though she were merely sleeping and would wake at any moment. Jet almost believed it. He ran a finger down her cheek, hoping that somehow inside that hell, she could feel it.

Shifting to Spike's bed, he glanced at a small bandage taped across his right temple. Beneath his oxygen mask a scruffy beard had grown.

Jet took Spike's left hand in his. “You look terrible with facial hair, pard. I'll make sure to ask them to give you a good shave as I leave.” His throat tightened a bit. “I stopped by to … well, I don't think you guys know, but the last couple days Ed hasn't slept a wink. We've been busy in the workshop. Almost done with something. I need you to hang in there.”

He went back to Faye's bed and held her hand briefly. “I'll see you both soon. I promise. You're coming home.”

Pulling out his phone, he dialed a number and waited. “Hey Bob, glad you picked up. I need a favor … ”

* * *

Jet sat at the bench in the workshop, tightening a screw on the cobbled device. On the floor, Ed leaned over her computer feverishly pounding out a code, her goggles glowed with a warm light. With her toe she ejected the chip and tossed it up to Jet. “It's finished. Plug it in. And this too.” She handed him a wire with a jack on it.

“Are you sure this is going to work?” Jet pushed the chip into the slot until it clicked. A small LED on the side of the head set glowed red. He plugged the jack in and held it out. “Should I put this on?”

“No.” Ed didn't even look up. “Just watch the lights.” She hammered through the key strokes. “The sucky worldy portal is special sound. Infrasonic. Below human hearing. We have a record of the wave.” She hit enter. “But that's the thing with sound waves … stack them right and they cancel-cancel.”

The light flickered from red to blue. Jet scratched his head. “Is blue what you're looking for?”

“Yes. That means it's a go-go. And with that if we adjust the wavelength a bit … ”

Now the light faded from blue to green. Somehow the disco light effect wasn't comforting. “Huh.”

Ed grinned and pulled down her goggles and threw her hands in the air. “Then Jet wakes up!”

“I wish we could do a real test. I'm not sure I like going in blind with a set of modified head phones.”

“Does Jet have an alternate dimension handy for a test?”

He rubbed his bald head. “Uhh no. I don't. So … ” he groaned, “by the seat of our pants this is. At least we know it catches my thoughts and translates them to your computer.”

Giggling into her hand, Ed muttered, “Jet has a dirty mind.”

“Uuugggg! Don't use those words, ok? I was frustrated and angry.” He clamped a hand on her shoulder and stared her straight in the eyes. “I'm counting on you, kid. You're my lifeline in this. Don't leave me stranded.”

She held up her own headset. “Ed won't get pulled in. Ed will be listening to you. Did you get a hold of Bob?”

“I did.” He held the device at his side. “He'll meet us there. The least we can do is bury the remains of the victims, maybe even provide closure for some missing. Shit, here I am still doing police work. But first, we're breaking Spike and Faye out. Now, what was the info you found on this guy?”

Ed pulled up a file. “It took a while to locate this. Government kept it super secret. Buried waaaaay deep and scram-scrambled. He was a bad bad man.”

Bad indeed. Jet stared at the screen, their opponent became evident.

“Dr. Lysander Selinofoto, a research psychologist stationed at Somnus in the 2040's-2050's. Head of project Morpheus. So that's where his name came from. Somnus, located in the remote Mendel crater, was a secure military test facility with the capability of completely locking down the subjects, essential for the nature of the tests. Project Morpheus had been the brain child of Selinofoto who had teamed up with another ambitious study. The end game was to create a method to walk in another man's shoes, or quite literally—their body.”

Jet rubbed his beard. “The specs look like they were literally aiming to subdue the original consciousness of an enemy victim and then replace it with a trained spy to infiltrate. What better way to take out an enemy than with the face of a friend. After a number of failures killing the first crop of recruits, and driving many of the second irrevocably insane, they hit a barrier. Something about the nature of brain synapses. They took wild stabs at solving the problem. Tried to get other scientists involved, with minimal success. But after years of no marked progress the military shut down the project in 2054. Selinofoto refused to leave the facility. A squad of soldiers entered Somnus to remove him.”

Ed hit the key on the sound file. The squad leader called out over the feed, “ _We found him. He's holed up in the lab. Hands up! You've pushed your luck, doc. There's a court-martial waiting for you. Wait … what is that? Heh. You gonna throw a stone at me?_ ” A series of thuds followed. Then … an eerie silence.

Jet's gruff voice rumbled, “No one who entered the facility was seen or heard again. Those sent to investigate, vanished. And Somnus became a dirty secret. Shut down, records buried. The crater deemed a nature reserve. Damn. Here we go again.”

“A stone. Remember Ein said he had a stone.”

“You think that's the key to this?”

Curled up beside Ed, Ein lifted his head from his paws and emitted a squeaky yawn.

She nodded vigorously. “Ein says so. Jet needs to the find the stone and destroy it.”

“What does it look like? How do I wreck it?”

Scratching her forehead, she narrowed one eye before offering a deep shrug.

“Great … going in blind. Alright, I'm gotta get us airborne. Ed, it'll take a while, why don't you get some sleep.”

She saluted, the momentum carried her backward into a flop. Instantly she started snoring as Ein curled up next to her.

* * *

Morpheus sat on the edges of the stone monument humming cheerily to himself, his foot planted in the middle of Spike's back.

Barely opening his eyes, Spike muttered, his voice weary but still rebellious. “You haven't won shit. No matter what you pull I refuse to be your bitch!”

Morpheus stopped and leaned forward. “Bitch … what an interesting thought resonance you have there. What was … oooooohhhhh my. Yes! That will be fun to watch!” He clapped his hands and leapt off of the stone, sloshing through the filthy mire beyond the end of Spike's chain tether.

On shaking arms, Spike pushed himself up fighting to hold his head higher though gravity yanked it downward. “I know this isn't real … nothing you do … now is gonna … phase me.”

“Don't be so certain.” He smiled, his fingers caressed the amulet. “I cannot argue, you are strong and resilient. A refined weapon of a body. Haha … but what would happen if that were taken away?”

Suddenly Spike felt dizzy, falling forward, he caught his weight on his arms. When he opened his eyes something was odd … odder than before. He was close to the ground but his arms weren't bent. His fingers seemed shorter—no, his whole hand was smaller.

“What the hell?” Spike blinked and grabbed at his throat. The voice was way too high. Scrambling backward against the stone, he discovered by some weird fluke his body was healed. Now dressed in torn jeans with worn canvas sneakers, a ratty long-sleeved t-shirt with a vest over it. His limbs were shorter, scrawny, half-starved. By rough estimation he knew if he stood up he'd be half his previous height.

His eyes widened in horror. “I'm a kid!”

A thunderous growl rent the air freezing Spike's blood. Out of the dark edges of the room a set of snarling fangs materialized.

Morpheus waved. “I'll just leave you two get reacquainted.”

Spike's heartbeat pounded, threatening to break his thin pre-adolescent ribs. He turned on his heel into a flat out run. The worn soles of the sneakers slipping and stealing his momentum. The dog was gaining on him. The chain clanked behind him, riding up and down on his right ankle.

_Oh fuck! The chain!_


	16. Session 16

_ **Session 16** _

Somehow knowing the sordid history of the building made the whole place creepier, never mind the headphones blocking out all external sound. All Jet heard as he tromped through the crumbling concrete of the structure was Ed's breathing through the mic on her modified headset device as they followed the beams of their flashlights, wandering past what used to be two massive steel locking doors into the ten storied tower beyond the office like entrance. A huge rusted dent in the middle betrayed the ages that had passed since those doors had been suddenly removed from the hinges.

This was the place they had fallen into a deep sleep? He recalled 'seeing' a resort. Not this … unwelcoming ruin.

The walls of crumbling cinder blocks bore the flecked paint of large stenciled letters and numbers. Wards. A-13, B-92 … In each one the halls were lined with heavy steel doors, heavy duty sliding bar latches on the outside. More numbers stenciled on them. Inside the remains of each room left Jet silently shuddering at the thought of being contained against their will within one. The rotted remains of a bed frame, metal bits from restraints—some still holding skeletal remains. No windows, even for the rooms that would have been the outside of the building. A few rooms held exam tables and cabinets of old supplies. Bottles breached by time, either with the contents dried up, or moss and fungus bursting from the openings. The mold and mildew left little untouched.

The floors all looked the same. He lost track of how many remains they passed, some more recent than others. To his surprise he felt a paw touch his leg. Glancing down he found Ein with something in his mouth. Jet knelt down, the corgi, sporting a custom pair of sound canceling headphones, deposited a tropical flower hair clip in his hand. Immediately he remembered it from the more pleasant form of their captivity.

“Colitas.”

Ed's voice carried over the headphones. “What?”

He held it out, showing her. “Ein found this. I think it belonged to Colitas, that girl who helped us out.” Looking down into Ein's eyes he asked, “Where did you find this?”

Ein scrambled into a room, pawing at the skeleton wedged in the corner. Only a few bits of cloth from her dress remained.

Stroking Ein's ears, Jet felt a slight ache in his heart. “Good boy. We'll come back for her, bury her right.” Gently, he set the clip into the palm of her bony fingers making note of the room's number. “Come on, we gotta keep going. Ed, how much further?”

“Don't know.” She leaned against the door, her computer slung over her back, but she held a small device. “Not here. We need to get higher. The signal isn't right.”

He followed her as they climbed up yet another crumbling stairwell. “What do you mean it's not right?”

“Too strong.” She tapped the screen. “The higher we go, the weaker the signal. Need it so Ed can override it easy peasy. Nother floor.”

Pushing through the door marked with a large stenciled 5, he heaved a sigh. “Fifth floor of this damn tower. Gooowww … and it smells just as bad the rest of the floors.”

“Stinky! But still, follow Ed.” She wandered along, barefoot.

That sent a shiver down his spine. She was treading in the mess without a care in the world, following the signal on her screen. Veering into a side room, she cocked her head. “Hrm. Getting warmer.”

“Heya Ed? Can we make certain wherever we do this I have a place to lie down on that's **not** on the floor?” He stuck his head in the exam room door, following the flashlight beam. The table toppled over in the middle, moldering supplies strewn everywhere from the broken cabinet. “Huh? What's this?”

Over in the rear corner of the room, Jet caught a figure slumped against the wall. Letters scrawled on the cinder blocks … in a dark brownish ink. Not ink … it was blood. He entered, pressing closer. A mostly rotted corpse, only the dried sinew remained, the body wrapped in a blood stained trench coat which lay open to reveal an empty gun holster. The skull shaded by a fedora.

Blood … a scalpel gripped in the bony fingers. In its other hand a photo with dark speckles showed a smiling young dark complexioned women with brown curly hair and brown eyes pushing a roughly two year old girl on a swing. Both laughing toward the camera. Their skin tone matched, but her hair was a wavy black with eyes a vibrant blue. His eyes, before they had rotted away, would have been fixed on it.

Jet shined the flashlight on the writing. The script was sloppy, but legible.

_Chief Andel, I died free. Found Lily. His name is Morpheus. - Jack EOW 9/3/2073_

EOW. Jet drew in a breath, lowering the light onto the figure. His heart sank. “End of watch, eh buddy? Damn. But this means you made it out of that hell on your own. Gotta respect that.”

Rubbing his chin it occurred to him. “Andel … that's got to be Henry. Wonder if he's still in Tharsis? Don't worry, Jack. I'll make sure he gets the message.”

As he stood up, he found Ed in the doorway. She met his gaze. “This is it. The best place to do it.”

Grabbing the table he put it upright. “You sure, kid?”

“Ed is certain.” She set her pack down and started to removed her computer.

With a steeling sigh, Jet laid down on the cold exam table. Ein's nose pressed a cable into his hand. He took it and plugged it into the headphones. “I'm trusting you, Ed.”

“Jet will be fine. The bad sandman won't be able to take him with Ed in his ear.”

His hand gripped the gun in its concealed holster. “What if you can't hear me when I'm on the other side?”

“Then Ed will simply wait an hour and pull you out. Easy peasy.”

Somehow Jet didn't quite feel confident. Turning his head he looked at the skeleton in the corner. “Boy, sure do hope I don't share your fate, buddy.”

“Ed is ready now.”

Releasing his breath he looked at the crumbling ceiling. “On the count of three.”

“Three … two … one! Let's jam!” Click!

* * *

Opening his eyes Jet stared up at the ceiling. Nothing had changed. “Did it work?”

He practically jumped out of his skin as a peel of childish laughter echoed in his skull. _“Sure did! Jet is all sleepy.”_

His hand touched his ears—not headphones, but his ears. Sitting up, he surveyed the room. It looked the same, except he was alone in it. Not even the skeleton. Just an empty exam room. He gripped the gun, un-holstering it, relieved to see it here in his hands. At least that much had transferred to this side. That had been a massive gamble.

“Ok, Ed, we've got a line of communication. Good. Now, can you see what's going on?”

“ _Yup. Sure can. Ed will be riding shotgun as Jet is the big hero of the day!'_

He groaned a bit, sliding to his feet. “We know they aren't here. So now comes the hard part. Finding out where in this labyrinth he put them. Do me a favor, I need to concentrate on what's going on here. Try to stay quiet unless it's really important.”

“ _Roger that, Black Woof Woof!”_

He tried really hard not to roll his eyes.

Out in the hall he was surprised to see not much of a difference between the real ruins and this place. One marked change—the doors all hung proper on their hinges, many with the lock bars engaged. Stalking forward with his gun leading the way, he moved as silently as possible sliding back the panel on each door. Unless Morpheus had changed things, he knew what he was looking for. A large gravestone-like monument in the middle of a room.

Cell after cell he found the same thing. A single human occupant huddled in the far corner face buried in their arms. Morpheus's defeated victims, few reacted to his voice. If they did it was with abject disbelief. Was this the fate they had narrowly evaded? Was this what awaited Spike and Faye?

“Not if I have anything to say about it!” Pushing onward he cleared the whole of the fifth floor, and staggered through the fourth. Nothing shook loose. “These are my crew members. My family! I am the Black Dog, I am not letting go!”

Storming onto the third floor he cleared two full wards before peering into a room to find something vastly different. A large circular chamber strewn with bones, and smeared with blood. Clearly a lot more recent activity had taken place here. In the center an enormous stone rose up easily twice his own height. From somewhere within growls echoed.

Jet yanked back the lock bar and dashed into the gloomy chamber, drawn toward the beast's noises. Around the corner of the stone monument he came upon an enormous mange riddled mutt gnawing on what looked like a bone. It's paws stepping on and trying to grip something. Taking aim, Jet fired a shot into the back of the dog's skull. It yelped, the flesh evaporated and collapsed into a pile of bones.

Jet blew on the end of the barrel. “Still got it.” Cautiously he approached. Unsure if this was the right place, this side of the stone had no writing on it.

The object the dog had been gnawing on shifted. Jet realized it wasn't a bone, or rather wasn't _just_ a bone. It was a leg with a shoe, dragging itself around the corner. Hitched breaths accompanied the efforts.

Closing the distance Jet came around the side of the stone prepared for anything but what he found. A scrawny young boy no older than ten years-old dragging himself upright. Painstakingly he tucked his knees to his chest, hugging them tight. One shoe crossing the toes of the other, both shoddy canvas sneakers only fit for a trash heap. The ill-fitting clothes that hung off his starved frame looked no better. Around his right ankle a chain had been fastened, holding him captive to the stone. _Morpheus is taking children too? Oh wait, of course he has—there were kids once the illusion was broken._

Edging closer, Jet reached out a hand. “Hey kid. You ok?”

He cringed, hands covering his head. “No … go away … don't do this to me again!” The voice raised as hysteria infected it. “Not again! You're not real!”

Glancing up, Jet's breath caught in his chest. The stone … he looked up at the name carved in stark blood stained letters. SPIKE SPIEGEL. His eyes drifted back at the boy. In the poor light it was hard to tell, but the mop of unkempt hair was—dark green. Carefully he reached and pushed the chin up. A pair of familiar brown eyes met his gaze. “Spike? Is that … you?”

He pulled his chin out of the hand and buried his face again. “I won't fall for it, Morpheus! I know your lies … your fucking false hope!” The voice was so high pitched, infected by a terrible tremor. The poor boy was shaking.

“Trust me.”

“Mao told me to trust him too. Never again!”

“Whoa, pard. It's really me.”

He shook his head. “Mmm mmm! Just a trick.”

“How about I tell you something that only the real Jet would know.”

“Morpheus knows every little thought, every little secret, every angle to grind away. You're just here to shove the blades and bullets deeper, to break more skin and bones.” He shivered, exhaustion invading his voice, “The fighting never ends.”

Exhaling a breath, Jet sat down in front of him. “I get why you think that, kid—”

He balled up his fists and shouted, “I'm not a kid, he just made me look like one!” That might have been convincing, were it not for the fact that in the next moment he started bawling his eyes out. “Aaaahhhh haaaa haaaa!”

Jet's heart broke at the juvenile sobs. He wrapped his arms around the petrified boy and held him close, as he would any other overwhelmed child. To his shock, Spike didn't push him away. Instead, he gripped the back of his neck tight, his tears soaking into Jet's shirt. It took several minutes before the sobbing dwindled. He gripped Jet's shoulders, pushing back a bit as he scrubbed his eyes with the backs of his hands. “It's gonna be alright, Spike-o. I'm here now. We're gonna get out of this.”

He was so small, not even half his adult height. Just a twig of a thing mauled by dogs. It was hard to imagine that at one time the self-reliant, secretive man he had partnered with had ever been this fragile.

“Is this what you really looked like as a child?”

His answer was a slow nod.

“Can you change back?”

Still scrubbing his eyes he shook his head. “I've tried.” That confession threatened to start the tears anew.

Jet placed his hands on his shoulders. “Hey, hey, it's ok. It's ok. I was just wondering.”

His shoulder fell along with his gaze. “I'm a failure. This body … this is from before I knew how to defend myself. He's reminded me, I'm too weak. I can't do anything.”

“Heh, the Spike I know would never say that.”

The line backfired. He crumbled backward, burying his face in his hands. Jet groaned to himself. Clearly more than his body had been unceremoniously kicked back to his youth. He had the emotional instability of a child as well.

Gently placing a hand on his narrow shoulders it reminded Jet of touching a sparrow's fragile wing. There was nothing at all to him. “Morpheus has gotten inside your head. None of this real.”

“It is real!” His shoulders shook as he curled into a tighter ball. “That's the problem. This **was** all real—the events that haunted my dreams, the things I wanted to forget but couldn't … all the things I purposefully forgot. I forgot them on purpose … them! I'm a terrible son!”

“No you're not. You told me yourself it bothers you that you couldn't remember your folks. You can't fault yourself for what you did after you found out they'd been murdered. You were a kid. Hell, even adults suppress memories.”

“But I served the man who ordered their deaths! I served the syndicate my father refused to. My hands … ” he held them up as they shook, staring, “I can never wash the blood off of them!”

“Damn it. I've had enough of the crap Morpheus is forcing on you. Come on, we have to get you out of here.” Jet grabbed the lock and rammed the muzzle of his gun against it, pumping the trigger once it launched a slug straight in, breaking it wide open. He threw the lock and the chain aside. “Can you stand?”

Spike pushed himself up, taking a stumbled step forward he nearly fell. Jet caught what little weight there was to him beneath the torn jeans and ratty shirt. The threadbare clothes barely concealed the damage from tooth and claw. Among other wounds, he had a large deep puncture in the back of his right calf, effectively crippling him.

“How many times did Morpheus do that to you?”

Leaning against Jet he shrugged. “I dunno. Too many to count?” He cringed, struggling to rein in his breathing.

“Hey, can you still feel your broken arm?”

He narrowed his eyes in concentration, rotating it. After a moment he nodded.

“Good. That means you're still connected to your real body. So there's still hope.”

“Wait … Morpheus didn't know about that.” Spike's fingers reached out, gripping his mechanical hand. He stared in earnest. “Jet … is that _really_ you? Did you really come back for me?”

He smiled, ruffling his unruly hair. “You bet I did, pard. Ed and I made it out. Listen to me. You and Faye, you're going to be alright now. Your bodies, your _real_ bodies are at the Alba City hospital.”

Cocking his head he blinked. “Wait … what? How?”

“It's a long story. Now, you're not looking too steady on your feet. Let me carry you.”

Spike took a staggered step back. “No, I'll just hold you back. If what you're saying is true, and you're really here, don't waste your strength. We don't even need to be together to get out. You just need to destroy his source. Leave me here. Go find Faye, she'll need to know you're here. I've heard her crying out. She's terrified.”

_And you aren't?_ Jet gripped Spike's shoulders, the poor boy was barely standing, on the verge of utter exhaustion. “I will not leave you behind again. We're gonna face this together.” _Besides, you barely weigh anything._ He turned around and tugged Spike's arms over his shoulders, reaching back he hauled him onto his back, gripping Spike's legs in a piggy back.

As he stood, Spike's head lolled forehead against the back of his neck, his arms hung limp over the shoulders as they departed the torture chamber. Spike let out a long breath. “Thank you.”

“Heh, you thought I would do different?”

He muttered, “You have … back in that room.”

“Should have given you a clue it wasn't the real me. Well, one of three objects found. Just need to find Faye and figure out where this stone is we're looking for.”

“Stone?” He voice lacked strength, he didn't so much as lift his head. “You mean like the one in the amulet around his neck?”

“You've seen it?”

“Mmm hmm. It glows from time to time, right before he changes stuff. Reminded me of that stone your friend's kid had in the middle of the rotating board.”

Jet furrowed his brow. “Wait, do you mean Meifa's Sun Stone?”

“Yeah, only this one had crystals in it like the one from the ring we made a bullet out of for Wen.”

This just got stranger and stranger, hearing the observations of the man he knew coming from the voice of a child. “If you're right, that is the source of how Lysander Selinofoto is pulling his kingdom of illusions off.”

Wearily he murmured, “If I'm wrong then he's been pulling off another misleading illusion. What I gathered, the guy isn't that worried about concealing his secret. Frankly, he's proud of it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been sitting on this AWESOME revelation for some time … but … here is the big REVEAL! The trench coated skeleton with the signature Jack in this chapter is not, in fact, my character, but belongs to Luck_Kazajian who some time ago asked for permission to send a detective into Morpheus's screw-diddly dream world in a story of her own. That story has dropped on Luck's profile under the name End Of Watch 9/3/2073 https://archiveofourown.org/works/27354643 . I hope you will all check it out! A fanfic of a fanfic!


	17. Session 17

_ **Session 17** _

Trudging through the corridors Jet barely felt Spike's listless weight on his back. Door after door proved to be false leads. Though he didn't know precisely what he was looking for, Jet knew it wouldn't be a typical cell, if Spike's case had been any indication. Knowing Morpheus's twisted obsessions he had a feeling Faye's cell would be obvious.

An hour of wandering the dismal wards had passed since he had stumbled upon Spike's chamber. But there was no way he was going to give up. Not without Faye. No one was getting left behind. This was his crew, his family.

Sliding open a door plate he took a step backward. This was not like the simple rooms he'd been seeing holding a single broken occupant. This was a vast chamber filled with cryo pods. And there at the far end of the room, Faye with her hands pressed against the window. Deep scars riddled her body.

Swiftly he yanked the lock bar back, pivoting the door on its rusty hinges.

Spike stirred and mumbled just behind his shoulder, “What's going on?”

“I found Faye.” Jet raced across the floor, eyes on the critical pod.

“Good.” Spike's reply lacked energy, he still hung limply over his shoulders, his head resting against Jet's shoulder blade.

Something told Jet that the thick plexi-glass sealing Faye in would likely be bulletproof. The moment he came into view, Faye squirmed within the pod, fear blazed in her eyes. “No! Not again.” Tears streamed down her face. “Don't use him against me! I can't take it.”

“I'm getting you out, Faye.” Jet placed his hand against hers, only the plexi-glass separated them.

She pulled her hands away, grabbing her head in the cramped space. “I can't do this again! Not again!”

“Stay with me.” He leaned down and stared at the control device. Spike began to slip from his shoulders. “A-hey! Ok kid, I'm gonna have to set you down for a bit.” Easing him around into his arms, Jet carefully placed him on the floor.

Spike leaned against the pod, his eyes halfway open, practically nodding off. Though this time Jet could hardly fault him. His wounds had not healed.

_I have to get Faye out and get them both to safety. Then I can deal with that asshole, Morpheus._

There didn't seem to be a latch or a lock. Instead it was a number sequence pad. “Faye, do you know what the code is to release you?”

She blinked. “You think he let me out of this damn thing? I've been frozen and thawed I don't know how many times by that prick! I have no idea!”

Groaning, Jet called out, “Ed, talk to me. Tell me we can figure this out!”

“ _Hrm. Not so easy. Don't have a direct link to the hack. Not sure how many numbers. But Ed can try.”_

“Do it. We have to get her out of there.”

“ _Roger that! On it!”_

In the meantime he started going through random sequences. 

Faye pressed her face against the plexi-glass. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I'm doing? Damn it!” He cursed as the code failed. When he glanced up her eyes were wide. “Relax, that was just my first stab. You know I don't give up that easy.”

Her finger pointed behind him at the same time he felt a hand gripping his leg. Jet glanced down to find Spike staring in terror behind his back. Turning slowly, he discovered they were no longer alone.

Grinning like a gargoyle, Morpheus stood by the door. He waved a hand and it slammed shut with a definitive thud. “I leave my toys unattended for but a moment and I return to find you have stolen one of them and are in the process of taking another. How entirely rude of you, after departing your prior reservation.”

“They're human beings, not toys.” Jet folded his arms, stance wide as if to charge. “You've messed with my family, Lysander! I'm taking them all back.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Oh, you are, are you? You do realize you are in my territory. My kingdom where my rules apply. Once again you shall be my subject. You may have slipped from my grasp before—but never again!”

“That's what you think.” Jet grinned. 

He snapped his fingers, and the cocksure attitude faded when nothing happened. “What … ?”

Laughing, Jet held his arms wide. “Try what you want. You can't effect me. I'm not here through  _your_ method.”

Morpheus scowled. His hand gripping the amulet around his neck. “How are you … ?” Shaking his head a slow smile grew, like a jackal cornering its prey. “Wait a moment, I don't need to effect you.” The stone glowed as he raised his hands palms together and in a savage slash he spread them apart.

The ground broke, falling away. Jet remained in the center standing on a spire. To his shock Faye's pod moved one direction and Spike the other, separated by vast pits that would take everything he had to clear them. 

A well-dressed couple now stood at the controls of Faye's pod, inside she pounded on the lid. “Mom, Dad! Please let me out!” In response to her cries, they lifted their noses in the air. 

On the opposite side young Spike struggled in the grip of a Red Dragon thug, pinning him like a sacrificial victim. Mao stood in front of him shoulder to shoulder with Vicious, his hand on his katana. 

Morpheus cackled. “You have a choice. You can't possibly save them both.” He steepled his fingers and cooed with delight. “So I wonder … which one will you chose to sacrifice to their fate?”

Sliding his gaze toward Faye he watched as her parents started to type in a code. “We're doing this for your own good, my dear. No one wants to waste time with a damaged human being.”

“Please! Don't! I don't want to cryo-sleep again!” She cried out. “I want to stay with you. I want to live!”

Mao's cold voice pulled Jet's attention to the other side. “You are such a disappointment. A true failure to the syndicate. I never should have wasted Red Dragon resources on a piece of gutter trash like you.”

In a frantic struggle, Spike tried to break free, but the diminutive form Morpheus has trapped him in couldn't. Anger flared on his face as Vicious's sword left its sheath. His high-pitched voice still belonged to a child, “No! I trusted you! I trusted you—I served you, sacrificing everything! You betrayed me, Mao!” Tears streamed from his eyes, the blade of the sword pressed to his exposed throat tracing a thin bloody line as he swallowed.

“You can never escape the enemy within.” Morpheus locked eyes with Jet and held out his hands. “Make your choice. Which will you sacrifice?”

Pinned down, unable to escape, Spike's panicked gaze shifted to Jet. He closed his eyes squeezing out tears. “Don't … not me. These are the results of my own mistakes. I never expected to live this long to begin with. Get Faye, get her out of here! She deserves a chance to live.”

That cry rang in his chest.  _So do you, pard. No one deserves to suffer at the hands of this maniac._ Jet shut his eyes. He had come to restore them both. He had come to drag both of their consciousnesses back to the real world. He had come to reunite his family. The choice Morpheus offered was impossible. But it was meant to be. It was a trap. An empty promise.

Fueled by the desires and horrors that Morpheus had tapped and thrust upon them all and countless others, the Black Dog made his choice. To put an end to  **all** this insanity. 

“You've reigned over your despicable kingdom long enough. I'm taking my family back.” Pulling out his gun he opened his eyes and stared down the sight, a grim smile on his face as he pumped the trigger.

The bullet flew true, spiraling through the air dead on course. Morpheus opened his eyes just in time to watch the projectile slam into the amulet, shattering the stone into dust. Instantly he tumbled to his knees, scrambling to collect handfuls of the remnants. “No! I need that!”

Blowing across the barrel of his gun, Jet smiled. “So, that was the source.”

Grabbing a tiny chunk of the stone he snapped his fingers and the ground repaired itself even as the figures vanished. Morpheus charged, screaming bloody murder. “How dare you! This was my kingdom, my domain! It will not be taken from me. Never! I. Am. Immortal!”

Leveling his gun, Jet aimed right between his eyes. The madness blazed in Morpheus's glare as he closed the ground. Pumping the trigger, Jet released the bullet. The impact pegged its mark sending Morpheus staggering forward and plowing into the ground … in a cascade of dust, he vanished. A whisper remained,  _“ … I will find you all again … ”_

“Like hell you will.” Holstering his gun, Jet raced to the pod door, slamming his hand on the controls. “Open damn it!” 

“ _Jet, try 3161.”_

Taking a deep breath he entered the number. The lock clicked. He tore the door open and reached in, easing Faye's scarred body out. 

She hugged him tight, sagging into his grasp. “Is it over? Please tell me this hell is over?”

He embraced her. “Morpheus ha bit the dust. It's over.”

Faye wiped the tears from her eyes, sniffling. Her gaze drifted over his shoulder and she blinked. “Spike? Is that you?” Staggering out of Jet;s arms, she crossed the floor.

At the sound of his name, Spike pushed up to his feet and ambled toward her. They collided, or more accurately, Spike slammed into her legs toppling them both into a tangled pile. 

She grabbed his face staring down in disbelief. “What happened to you?”

He blinked up at her, shirking out of her grip and holding her tight. “I tried to get to you. But I couldn't. Morpheus wouldn't let me. I'm sorry!”

“Spike, why are you a little kid?”

He tried to answer but it was unintelligible.

Wrapping his arms around both of them, Jet smiled. “It doesn't matter. In reality when you two wake up in Alba City hospital you'll be yourselves again.”

“Alba City?” Faye blinked.

“It might be a while before Ed, Ein and I join you there. I have some things that I need to do.” He ruffled Spike's hair. “We found Colitas's skeleton. Bob is out there with a crew. We're going to bury the remains of his victims before we head back.”

He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. “You are?” 

Jet nodded. Still holding each other they were becoming transparent, fading before his eyes. “Be patient. We'll be back soon.”

Suddenly Jet felt heavy. He opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling. Ed jumped up on top of him knocking the wind from his chest. She yanked off the headset. “Welcome back, traveler! You have arrived!”

For a moment he panicked. “What are you doing?”

She held up a device and it showed a flat line. “No more wavy wave! The weird weird world is gone.”

“Phew.” He sat up looking down at the skeleton in the corner beneath the writing. Free … “Hey Ed, what about those who were caught up in that dimension of his?”

Ed rocked back and forth. “Vaporated. They go ni-night permanently now. Without his stone is all gone now.”

“So, they're at peace?”

She nodded. “The last bye-bye.”

“Alright, let's get Bob in here. We have a lot of burials to help out with.”

*

The building swarmed with workers so much is was difficult not to step over someone. Bob had phoned in a lot of favors for this and somehow, by some miracle, he had delivered. Jet dusted his hands off as he entered a large room on the third floor of the tower. Some of the letters had worn off, but he was fairly certain it had once said 'Laboratory'. 

It was a huge space divided into areas. Banks of lab counters stretched over one-third of the room spanning the full length of the wall. Dusty computers and tools awaited someone to use them in the dark corridors. Along the other wall two tables with heavy grade straps built into them sat, strange wired devices hung haphazardly overhead. Along the back wall robots in various conditions leaned against it, many of them clamped in place. One of them slumped at an awkward angle, the flashlight showing it wasn't latched into place. 

Unfortunately, that wasn't all this place held.

Bob pulled his hat off and wiped his brow. “What do you think happened here?” He was staring at four old skeletons in heavy military SWAT gear, their guns still in their bony grasps. They lay sprawled on the floor toppled forward. Across the room a lab-coated skeleton lay face down with a pair of shattered glasses.

Jet swept the floor with the flashlight looking for bullets. There were none. Bending down he picked up the glasses frame and his chest tightened. “Lysander wore a pair just like these.”

“Who?”

“The guy who was behind this Somnus place, the Morpheus project. He got a little obsessed. When it was shut down he refused to leave. This had to be the room where it happened. His last stand …, ” he shrugged a shoulder, “well, last _physical_ stand.”

“Sir!” A shout behind them caught their attention. They turned to find an officer jogging up. “There's a kid in here!” He went to point over his shoulder when the fire red hair appeared out of the darkness. He shrieked in surprise.

“Hiiiieeeeeeeeeee!” Ed waved.

Bob replaced his hat and stroked his mustache. “That's just Edward. She's with him. It's all good.”

“As is the woof woof, Ein!” At her feet Ein ambled and barked.

_Need something to keep those two out of everyone's hair._ “Hey Ed, there's computers in here. Can you see if we can get the databases off them?”

“Aaaaaahahehehehe!” With the use of a headlamp, she dashed around the corner and plopped down in front of the first computer.

Jet heaved a long sigh. “Alright, lets see if these guys have IDs on them. The least we can do is let the families know. We know that one is Lysander Selinofoto, the jerk off who was holding us prisoner.”

“Eh?” Bob scratched his head as others entered the room to held out. “Wait, if he's dead how was he … ?”

“It's hard to explain, really. But you know how that kid in the coma built the Brain Scratch cult and that whole idea of separating the consciousness from the body? That's exactly what Project Morpheus was about.”

“So he got it to work?”

“Technically, at least part of it. Don't think it worked out too well.” Jet tossed the glasses onto the back of the lab coated skeleton. “I mean, he died in the process.”

“Gah!” A shout came from the rear wall. 

On edge, Bob and Jet both turned to the man's direction. He stood wide-eyed, arms defensive against the robot.

“John, what the hell are you doing? Didn't I say be careful what you touch?”

He gasped and flailed an arm. “I didn't touch anything. But I swear that thing just moved.”

“It's old, probably falling apart.”

“If it was falling, I might believe you. But the arm went up, not down.”

Against his instincts, Jet wandered a bit closer. The thing was a rust bucket, and yet parts of the joints showed a shift from the rust line. Scuffs on the floor marked a well worn path to the doorway. But that could have been decades old. There were LEDs on the face plate but not a flicker of power to them.

John reached for the head with a single finger and touched it. The head shifted on the joint to his pressure. 

“Wonder if this was one on the steps.”

“To what?” Bob came to Jet's side. 

“Take the consciousness and put into one of these machines for starters. The end goal was a total transplant. To be able to take the mind of a spy and put into the body of an enemy for the ultimate covert operation.”

Enthralled, John crept closer, peering up under the visor at the mechanics. His hand ran up the forearm.

Bob shook his head. “What kinda whack shit is that?”

“Unsettling. Trust me. You know he succeeded in one side of this. I mean, you hauled us out of here. I can't thank you enough for that.”

Another officer approached. “Long rang signals have been restored. Jet, there is news from the hospital about your shipmates. They're showing signs of regaining consciousness.”

He leaned forward. “Are they awake yet?”

“Not fully. But there's been a bit of movement.”

He thrust a hand in the air. “Yes!”

ZAP! THUD!

At first Jet darted toward Ed, she was seated between the computers entirely captivated by the screens, she didn't even look up. 

“John, you dip shit!” Bob shouted, “Hey, we need a medic in here. John touched a live wire.”

Jogging to his side, Jet cocked his head. “He gonna be alright?”

“Depends how much of the juice he got. He's still got a pulse, but he's out cold. See the burn on his finger? That must've been quite the jolt. Be down one man. He'll be off to the hospital.” Bob eyed Jet, “You know, we'll be sending him back on a shuttle. You should go. We'll take care of out here.”

“But I … ”

“Go see Faye and Spike.” He smiled beneath the brushy mustache. “I can tell that's what you want to do.”

Jet pointed over his shoulder. “Once Ed's downloaded what she can get, we'll go. Thanks Bob, appreciate it.”


	18. Session 18

_ **Session 18** _

Mars's craters stretched out below as the _Bebop_ ghosted through in a low orbit on course for Alba City. Reclining on the bridge, Jet stared at the message he had typed to accompany the photo of the strange skeleton that had shared the room with his final passage into Morpheus's realm. He sincerely hoped that the Andel in the writing on the wall was still working in Tharsis, or this might prove to be embarassing.

One final read through, not knowing how it would impact the receiver. _Passing this along in case it hasn't reached you. Jet Black._

He rubbed his temples. “I doubt it has. Only by sheer luck ...” the jingle of Ein's tags as he scratched an itch before yawning and laying his head back down to resume his nap stole Jet's attention, “ … and the simple life of one very priceless dog, did we manage to get out.”

Hitting send, he ran a hand over his head and leaned back. The ship had them on course to arrive in Alba City in two hours. Two more hours before he got the chance to speak with Spike and Faye again. Granted, he doubted they'd be up to coming back to the ship right away—if his own experience was any indication.

The patter of bare feet up the stairs precluded Ed as she tore around the bridge with a large lumpy backpack over her shoulders, laughing. “Ehhhh hee heee! Going to see the Spike-person and Faye-Faye now that they wake-wake! No more nighty-nightmares!”

Leaning on his palm, Jet's gaze followed her wild path noting the clanking. “Ed.”

She paused, “Hrm?”

He pointed. “What's in the backpack?”

“What packback?” Rocking back and forth on her heels, he had the notion that she'd done the reversal on purpose.

“The one on your back.”

She turned in a circle, looking over her shoulder like a dog chasing its tail. Ein huffed a breath, Jet swore the dog rolled his eyes at the antics before laying his head on his paws to resume his nap. As she held up her hands in mock confusion, a peeping squeak could be heard. A very familiar sound. Ed froze and shifted her eyes to the side.

“Ed.” He glared, crossing his arms. “Put the Six Pack down. They are not coming to the hospital.”

“Nyyooooo.” Taking off the backpack, she set it on its side. In a shuffle, one after the next, all six crept out of the bag and dashed down the stairs, leaving the bridge. “But they miss the Spike and Faye-Faye, and they said they were sorries.”

“They're getting powered down when we leave. And they're going to be happy that I'm not just chucking them out the airlock.”

“Jet-person is a grouchers! Ed thought he might be happier now.”

Returning to the screen he shrugged a shoulder. “Jet-person … ehhhh, I'm not grouchy. I'm just tired of those little shits making a mess of my ship. Now, go power them down.”

“Can Ed do it in the tiny-tree room?”

He heaved a sigh. Pinching his nose. “Fine. Yes, you can do it with the bonsai tree growth lights. But they better be truly off! I mean it. If we come back and they've wrecked things I'm blaming you!”

It was too late, she was already long gone.

“Why do I feel like I'm going to regret that?”

Ein flicked an ear, but remained snoozing.

* * *

“Please just—look I can't do anything about that!” The moment Jet was in earshot of the ICU he heard one of the nurses with a raised voice as she left the room. Putting a hand on another nurse's shoulder she smirked. “And with that I'm out of here! They're all yours.”

The other nurse rolled his eyes. “Gee, thanks. This was sooo much simpler when they were unconscious.”

Jet made his way toward the door smiling to himself. So, they were already making trouble. Why did that not shock him in the least. By his side, Ed twirled and gamboled about. With a wide smile she presented the grumpy nurse with a lollipop. “I give the gift of happies!”

Taking the strange gift, her frown turned to sheer confusion.

After the confuddled nurse had moved off, Jet ruffled Ed's hair. “That was nice of you.”

“Edward did not like that flavor.”

He halted in mid-stride glancing over his shoulder—there had been no wrapper! But it was too late, the recipient was already gone. He groaned. “Noooo, Ed!”

The moment Ed was at the door she threw her hands in the air and ran in. “Faye-Faye! Spike-person!”

Racing into the room, Jet heaved a sigh of relief that Ed hadn't tackled them. Instead she was spinning in between their beds. They were in fact, both awake. Their bagged eyes open, but blinking in a slow motion.

Faye gave a smile and muttered in a weary voice. “Hey guys … good to see you here.”

Coming to a halt between the two beds, Jet put a hand on top of Ed's head, pinning her in one location and ceasing her spinning. She just continued to grin as he looked between his two bed-ridden crew mates. “Been a while. We missed you in here.”

Spike croaked, “Thanks for coming back for us.”

Was it Jet's imagination or did their complexions still look rather off? A quick glance at the monitors told him … next to nothing. The graphics were complex, so different from the plain quick readouts on the ship's gear. Still, they were awake. “By the looks of things you two were causing someone grief.”

“That would be Spike.” Faye stared at him even as he rolled his eyes. “The idiot wanted to light up. You're on oxygen. What happens when fire mixes with oxygen, genius!”

He scowled. “Give me a break! It's not like you're not considering it too.”

She blanched.

Chuckling, Jet shook his head. “Ahh, I've missed this. Give it a few days and you'll be back on board the _Bebop_ raising a ruckus.”

Nothing prepared Jet for the pained look Spike offered him. “Hate to burst that bubble for you, pard. But uhh, … we're not going anywhere until we're wireless.”

Ed giggled into her hand, but Jet clamped a hand on her shoulder, shock loosening his jaw. That expression was one Spike reserved for serious situations. “What … what are you talking about?”

Faye's somber gaze at Spike sent a shiver down his spine. She lifted her chin toward the door. “They wouldn't tell us what was going on. But we knew things were … well, they were hiding something. Spike threatened them until they came clean.”

Glancing between them Jet waved a beckoning hand.

Slowly Spike grabbed the edge of his blanket with his left hand and held it up. Beneath it Jet laid eyes on it for the first time. Beneath his untied hospital shirt, a strange device encompassed his abdomen, a series of clear tubes with various colored fluids plugged into points. The other end of those tubes disappeared into the mechanics of the bed. When he heaved a sigh, some of the tubes shifted—and he winced. “Yeah, … we may be awake … but we're not doing so great at the moment.”

“Actually, our bodies aren't doing much of anything.”

Ed stared with rude fascination until Spike lowered the blanket.

“What is all that?”

“Apparently,” Faye glanced at Spike, “severe dehydration mixed with some serious stress results in the body going into a full blown panic. It kicked into survival mode. Which means everything non-vital shut down.”

“We're on some serious life support at the moment. The shorter list is what was still working … breathing and blood circulation. That's it.”

“Wait.” Jet looked back and forth between them. “That's not good.”

“No kidding.” She sighed. “But they've got a plan to slowly get things started again. One system at a time.”

Ed picked at the edge of Faye's blanket looking underneath. “Hrmmm, those look deeeeep. Do you feel them?”

Offering another weary smile, she nodded. “Every breath. That's why I hope they can do this fairly quickly. Get these damn things out of our organs.” She thrust her head back against the pillow. “Oh God, I could use a burrito about now!”

“Faye!” Spike whined, turning to look out the window.

“Sorry.” She muttered, “But I really could.”

Swallowing the revelation Jet forced a smile. His hand touched Spike's shoulder. “Even bickering, it's good to have you two back.”

Ed bobbed up and down at the side of Spike's bed. “Jet really worried when we saw what the mean man was doing to you in the pit. Said we had to hurry rush-rush and get you out.”

Slowly Spike turned his sickly gaze to Ed, brow furrowed. “Saw? … But how did **you** know?”

Her finger pointed toward his right temple. “We saw what Spike-person saws. Sneaky peaky peepers!”

His right arm currently in a cast, Spike reached across with his left and the moment he touched the bandage over his temple an unflattering squeal escaped him. “What did you do!” It was like it registered in the next second. “Ed, you _hacked_ my eye?”

In a flourish of pride she grinned and nodded. “Sure did.”

“That's not possible. That's supposed to lock out after the calibration! How the fuck ...”

“Spike,” Jet held up a hand, “Calm down, buddy. You're looking a bit pale.”

Breathless he shook his head. “I forgot who we're talking about.” He swallowed. “Ed—you are **never** to do that again. That computer is strictly off limits to you—to **everyone**. Do you hear me?”

“Ed hears.” She giggled, dancing over to the window and singing nonsensical lyrics.

Spike glared at Jet, but it lacked intensity. “How could you let her do that?”

“Sorry, pard, we needed the info.”

“What did you see?”

He lowered his eyes.

Faye looked over to them and grinned. “I can't believe how adorable you were as a kid.”

Spike stiffened.

“Oh come on. Admit it.”

Once more he sought refuge out the window. But Ed was in front of it, giggling. “Spike was a cute little boy.”

He groaned, covering his face with a hand.

Holding up a hand to silence both the girls, Jet shook his head to Faye as confusion wandered across her face. “Spike, I … I didn't mean anything.”

“Just … drop it.” It was such a lethargic tone, but Jet couldn't missed the quiver of stale pain.

He came closer reaching out a hand to his shoulder.

Spike jerked away from him, instantly regretting it as his hand hovered above his abdomen, alternating between a fist and a flattened palm as he hissed. “I said … drop it!”

Slowly, on the far side of the bed where Spike was trying to evade their stares, Ed rose up, her nose resting on the mattress. “Spike-person is a grouchers now.”

He gritted his teeth, but his anger didn't quite reach his eyes.

Coming around to Ed, Jet touched her shoulder and shook his head. “Now's not the time.”

The corners of her eyes creased. “Not the time to laughs? Laughter is the bestest medicines. Spike-person needs to laugh. Then he feels better.”

Jet knelt down and shook his head, knowing the answer and sparing his partner from having to say it himself. “Kiddo, that doesn't always work.”

Sticking her fingertip in her mouth she cocked her head. “It doesn't?”

Heaving a long sigh, Spike glanced over at them. “I'm not upset with you, Ed. It's just … it's been a real tough time.”

“Ed knows, Ed sa—”

Spike held up his left hand stalling her. “Don't. Just … please let's not talk about any of that. I think even Faye will agree.”

Indeed she was nodding as emphatically as she could manage. “Anything but that.”

“Hmm, ok.” Ed narrowed her eyes for a long moment as Spike lay back in relief. Then, waving her hand in the air she called out, “Ed knows what we needs. _Bebop_ crew needs a vacation!”

Grabbing the covers in both hands Faye pulled them up over her head. Spike flopped his left arm over his face with a protracted moan.

Jet executed a double facepalm. “Ed. Ed. Ed. We have **got** to work on you reading the room.”

After a moment of confusion she started to stare at the walls. “Room number … ”

He peered through his fingers. It was going to be a long day.


	19. Session 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was partially co-written. In the last scene Andel's lines were provided by Luck_Kazajian who created this character. We actually bantered back and forth through a video call. Enjoy!

_ **Session 19** _

The ICU ward had descended to a peaceful state in the hours after sunset, after the visitors were pushed out—some more reluctant than others. Ed being one of those. Jet had been forced to carry her out of the room.

In a way it was endearing. There was a time … Spike recalled staring at the paint smeared on the deck of the _Bebop_ in a gigantic cheeky smiley face with the words _Bye-Bye_ , he'd been bummed but his life had been so transient that it barely registered at that time.

Not like now. Today, watching her fret and throw an Ed-tantrum over having to come back in the morning touched him in a place he rarely acknowledged he had … his heart. It was strange having people care about him, and not just for show. They seemed to actually mean it.

A whispering carried across the room. Spike cracked open his eyes, a process that took a good deal of effort at the moment. It wasn't a nurse in the room reading off a screen, he'd already startled one twice by telling them it was rude to mumble about people in their earshot. It was almost a bit of a shame it wasn't a nurse, lying flat on his back having a machine doing most of the living process for him left him with rather few options for entertainment. Messing with the staff was about it.

His brow furrowed, there it was again, a strange sound. There were no alarms going off, from his angle he couldn't see anyone lingering in the dimly lit hall outside their door, the staff was nice enough to turn the lights down for sleeping.

Rolling his head on the pillow he fixed his eyes on her silhouette. Faye lay in her bed, but she was **not** at peace. Her eyes were closed tightly, her hands gripped the blanket atop her chest. She was the source of the incoherent muttering as she twitched and writhed.

He knew it immediately, Faye'd been besieged by a nightmare—and an intense one by the look of it. His eyes raced around the room. Their beds were far enough apart he couldn't reach her. There was no way he could get up. Earlier in the day when the nurses weren't in the room he'd tried to lift his head and nearly passed out from the dizzy spell. He was far too wiped out.

But he couldn't leave her thrashing.

“Faye.” His voice was little more than a thin rasp. The sad thing was he wasn't trying to be quiet at all. That should have been his normal volume.

No response from her, but no surprise.

He inhaled a deeper breath and tried again. “Faye!” The force aggravated his throat, he coughed a bit, jostling his body and sparking fresh jolts of pain tracing the tubes in him, before catching his breath to try again. “Faye, wake up.”

She tossed and turned, as much as she could. After all, she had the same damn set of tubes he did. And that shit didn't allow for much movement for a very legit reason.

“Damn it.” Spike gritted his teeth. There wasn't even anything he could toss at her. He could push the call button, have a nurse wake her … but he knew— _he knew_ what it was like to deal with this shit. The last thing she'd want was a stranger seeing her vulnerable. Frankly she probably didn't want him knowing, but it's not like he was eavesdropping. His voice couldn't get any louder without him coughing—his abdomen hurt just thinking about that!

There had to be something he could do. _Think, Spike! Think!_

He cocked one eyebrow. How loud could he whistle? To his surprise it came fairly easily, not aggravating his raw throat. He started in on the melody of the lullaby, something soft. And gentle It could have two effects either lull her back into a restful sleep or draw her out.

By the time he reached the end of the first verse her eyes slowly opened. She was still breathing a bit heavy, but she looked around, turning her head toward him with relief. “Tell me this is reality.”

He heaved a sigh. “Yeah, this dismal room is our current reality. Welcome back, Faye. Must have been **some** nightmare.” He knew not to ask her what it was. If she wanted to say it, she would. This was her sacred space that some asshole had already tromped through. She didn't need a classic Spike-jerk moment.

Shivering, she gripped her elbows tight.

Spike envied her that ability. With his arm in a cast resting on a pillow by his side that wasn't a move he could pull off.

After a few minutes she stared up at the ceiling, relaxing a bit. “It's so hard to know … you know … after what we went through. What he put us through.”

“Sure is.”

Her voice was hardly above a gravelly whisper, just as hoarse as his. Neither of them could muster up much of anything. But sometimes—watching and being there was all that was needed. “I'm sorry, did I wake you?”

He offered her a somber smile, looking away before he forced it out. “No … I … I'm having a hard time closing my eyes anyway.”

She shifted. “You are … but Spike … ”

He shrugged, trying to head her off at the pass, but it didn't work.

“He really did it … he really got to us … didn't he.” Her words were so timid.

Spike clenched his left fist, swallowing the discomfort. “After our desires failed to keep us enthralled, he preyed on our fears. Let's face it … you and I … we're not exactly carefree individuals.” He expected her to rail on him, to tell him he was wrong, and she was fine. That's not the reaction he received.

She hugged herself again. “You seemed like you were … so carefree, untouchable, not much bothered you. That's what drove me crazy about you. I wanted to be that strong, that capable.”

“If you wanted to be like me, you really wanted to be a faker.” He turned away from her, watching the lights of the city against the night horizon. Movement while he lay still.

“Inside that nightmare, in his grasp … Morpheus made it all seem so real. He knew what frightened me most. The cryo … being frozen, separated, the loss of my memories—of everything I was. My parents, my family, my friends … my whole world shattered and taken from me. Only to wake up in a void—vulnerable, at their lying mercy!” Faye shuddered, clawing at the blanket. “I can't stand it. I can't take the feeling of all this stuff in me! I can't go through that again!” Even despite her raw throat, her voice gained a note of hysteria. “It's just like the chamber … the cryo chamber. I can feel it! The ice!”

“Hey, Faye—listen to me. Take a deep breath.” He exaggerated as much as he could. It took her two breaths to even try. “Just breathe with me. Easy now, in and out. In and out. Everything is going to be ok. Stay with me. Nice and easy.” He set the deepest meditation cycle he knew, not even needing to count the breathing to nail the elongated exhale, calming his own racing heart. The raging river can only stir up the stream, he had to smooth out the current if he wasn't going to make it worse.

She was still shaking, but her breathing had relaxed. Spike could guess what her nightmare had been about, that wasn't hard to imagine from her clues. Faye hugged herself. “I want to go back to the _Bebop_ , **right now**. I want all this shit out of me and I want to be back on board that rust bucket right now!”

“Would be nice. I'm right there with yah … except … ”

“Except?”

“Jet's good, but this … what's wrong with us now is beyond his skills. Soon as he can, Jet'll get us back aboard and will get our asses off this piece of shit planet. Sorry, but we're gonna have to tough this out together.”

“Heh. At least we're in a room together and not all alone.” A bit of color sprang to her cheeks. “Thanks for waking me … I appreciate that.”

“Couldn't leave you fussing like that.”

She stared into her hands. “It was like being back there again, back under his cruel gaze as he poked at the darkest parts of our lives.”

“That's the worst of it. He drew on real events, real memories. He was showing us twisted truths.” Spike narrowed his eyes. “I don't even know how we got into that mess. The last thing I remembered I was slumped against a tree watching you all laughing your fool heads off having a great time, while I seethed with jealousy as all I could do to make it the end of the damned day was chase the bottom of a damn sake bottle. Fuck, I could use a drink about now. Something, **anything** to take the edge off.”

“How we got in there?” Faye muttered meekly. “Ummm well, it began to rain. So we kind of … carried you into the building.”

He eyed her but doubted it carried even a quarter of the brooding he intended. He just didn't have it in him.

“You were barely responding to us. We couldn't just leave you in the rain. We had no idea, it didn't look like an old shuttered government facility like Jet described when he went back. You can ask him. It looked like an honest to goodness resort in full swing. If only we'd known the truth.”

“Considering how many skeletons Jet described, we were hardly the only ones to believe that load of shit. It's not your fault, Faye.”

She watched him for a long moment before the question broke the silence, “It was the day after your birthday, why do you drink so hard on that date?”

He shut his eyes tight and exhaled a long breath. The answer wouldn't leave his throat, he didn't even try. He lay there obstinately silent. It wasn't that he didn't want to tell her, he couldn't. The pain lanced deeper now, hitching his breathing.

“Morpheus's tormenting … when my parents stood outside the chamber, when they pushed the buttons putting me into cryo … that was the worst feeling ever. It gutted me, like they didn't want me anymore. I was a burden they were disposing of.” She stared at her hands . “What was the worst for you?”

Spike reached up and rubbed his eyes. He didn't want to recall any of it … but Faye was clearly desperate to normalize what happened. “I can't get it out of my mind … Mao, the man I served, the man who saved me and made me what I was … he ordered the hit on my parents. He was responsible for making me an orphan, and I had blindly been willing to die for him. Lysander dug into everything, every dark corner of my past showing me things I never wanted to see again—never even wanted to see once. The things I did in the name of Red Dragons oblivious to the truth.”

Faye cocked her head. “Lysander?”

He nodded. “The man Morpheus used to be. Lysander Selinofoto. I met him once.”

“Then … why didn't you recognize him?”

“I did, when he showed me the memory I'd suppressed. Apparently I have a lot of those. Of course I hadn't really remembered it clearly. I'd been like three or four years old. I honestly don't know. But the guy creeped my parents out. Enough that they ran to a shit hole like Deseado in a vain effort to evade his attempts to steal their research.”

Faye blinked. “Research? Wait … were your parents …?”

“Lumen and Lyra. They were apparently remarkable neuroscientists. Not that I knew that as a kid. I just liked to wear my dad's lab coat and steal his glasses.” The memory was more vivid now, cutting him like a knife. How he had looked up to them both. How as a naive child he hadn't understood their whispers, their furtive glances, their tears they'd failed to hide from him behind strained smiles.

“You know their names now. That's a good thing. Maybe there is more information out there about them.”

He shrugged and pointed out the window. “Out there. We're stuck in here for who knows how much longer.”

“I don't want to think about that.” She traced the folds on her blanket. “Spike, I can't sleep … would you … would you sing that lullaby?”

He shook his head. “I'm sorry. Throat's too sore.”

Her head bowed, fingers lacing. “Ohhh … ok.”

There was no way he could sing right now. But after a deep breath, he whistled the melody softly. Several verses in he glanced over to discover Faye eyes closed, breathing evenly with a peaceful smile. Gazing up at Phobos, one of Mars's moons, shining through the window, he sighed. “Looks like it's just you and me. Sorry, they don't allow moonshine in here or I'd give you a toast.”

* * *

Bleary-eyed, Jet clomped onto the _Bebop_ with Ed still over his shoulder. She drummed her fingers on his shoulder. “Ed wants to go back!”

“Tomorrow.” He sighed and set her down. It didn't surprise him one bit when Ed turned and started to walk back off the ship. He grabbed her by the shoulder and dragged her down the stairs into the living room. “Visiting hours are over. Spike and Faye—and everyone else in the ward, need to get some rest.”

“Edward wants them to come home now.”

“I'm sure they want to come home too, but that's not gonna happen right now. They need what the doctors there can supply.”

She placed a finger to her lips. “Jet-person is good with the medical stuffs.”

Kneeling down. He looked her in the eyes, pleading. “Kiddo. I have enough to worry about right now. It's been a long day. So, can you please just go to bed. And I promise, as soon as visiting hours open up we'll go back tomorrow. Ok?”

“Ok, Ed will wait for the tomorrows.” She turned and raced off into the ship. “Ein, c'mere boy! Guess what, we saw Spike and Faye-Faye!”

Wandering up to the bridge, he flopped down into the cockpit. Through his fingers he spied a flashing message. Opening it, his eyes scanned the reply from Andel.

_Jet,_

_Thank you for sending me this. Would you do an old acquaintance a favor and meet me at the Blues Cat in Alba City? I'd like to know anything you can tell me about Jack. Tomorrow at 10am?_

Of course he'd want to know what happened. Jet could only imagine the questions that photo would have left. Of course he would do the old guy a favor.

_See you there._

* * *

The sweet sorrowful song of a sax wailed out in the smokey den that was the Blues Cat. Brick walls tinted with ages of smoke surrounded the raised stage. A man sat at the piano gently stroking the keys like a long lost lover exploring a fading memory, a cigar hanging out of his mouth. Behind the bar a tender polished glasses with the edge of his apron. Scattered around at the tables the patrons leaned over their glasses, most seemed lost in the music drifting on some memory or another.

The same went for Jet as he swirled his whiskey neat in the glass. On the other side of the small round table sat a man he hadn't seen in years. Those years hadn't been kind to Andel. The fact was they'd worked a case in Tharsis ages ago and somehow the man was still trapped in the same station in one of the most corrupt cities on Mars. He was only in his forties and yet streaks of gray marred his dark hair. He had a five o-clock shadow brushing against the collar of his button up shirt, the dark blue tie slightly loosened. His dark gray jacket lay slung over the back of the chair as he stared at the beer bottle in his hand.

At length he spoke, his voice a gruff rumble, “Thanks for meeting with me here.”

“No problem.” Jet took a sip of his whiskey. “Sorry the news wasn't so great.”

“Better than no news at all. I haven't seen Jack in almost two years. He went out to Mendel Crater to investigate a missing person case. Is that where you found him?”

“Pretty much. It's a little more complicated than that.”

Andel stared at him, clearly expecting more as he lifted an eyebrow. “Is there more?”

Jet sighed. “How strong is your stomach?” He gestured at the beer. “You might want to drink more of that first.”

Taking a deep swig, Andel considered it. “After almost twenty years on the force my stomach's pretty good. I take it this isn't a pretty story.”

“Yeah, ask my crew about that. Two of them are still in the hospital.”

“I'm sorry to hear that. They ok?”

Jet muttered into his whiskey, “They will be … hopefully.”

After a mouthful of beer and the sax chorus, Andel lifted his chin. “What did you guys run into out there?”

Looking around to make sure no one was eavesdropping, he replied. “Would you believe one helluva government cover up?”

Andel stared him straight in the eye unwavering. “Yes, yes I would. Jack had suspicions before he went out there.”

“Well, your man was dead right.” He flinched at the unfortunate slip of the tongue. “This was one fucked up place. Umm, not sure how to put it, but some loony with a god-complex and government funding figured out how to turn people into ghosts, more or less. He almost succeeded with me and my crew. We only got out because of our dog.”

He fiddled with his beer bottle, before asking deadpan, “Your dog?”

Jet held up a hand. “Not the strangest thing. Trust me.”

“Okaaaay.” He watched a waitress drift through the smokey haze, delivering a drink to another table. The sax called out a lonely melody pining about lost opportunities. “How did you find Jack?”

“In the middle of the tower in a shut down medical research center called Somnus. If you have a good hacker, you might be able to find some info on it. A project called Morpheus.” Jet looked at him knowingly.

Andel took out his phone and pulled up the photo, pointing at the message on the wall. “You mean _this_ Morpheus?”

“The dude **and** the project. Yes.”

“So this is the guy who was turning people into ghosts?”

With a nod he lifted his glass and took a sip. “The same Morpheus who tried to turn your guy and my crew into ghosts, and luckily failed in our case.”

He contemplated this for a long while reading and rereading the words. “Is that what Jack meant by dying free?”

Jet shrugged. “Only way he could have written the message was getting out. He was back in our dimension.”

“You know … if I didn't know the Black Dog better,” Andel eyed him, “I would think that what you're tellin' me was complete bullshit.”

“If I hadn't been through it … ” Jet took a drink, letting that be his answer.

“So, is this Morpheus character still out there?”

“No. We broke his world. He only existed in this alternate dimension of his by a special stone, one of those ones from the exploded astral gate that took out Earth's moon.”

Andel's eyebrows raised and he nodded looking a bit perplexed, but he ultimately said nothing.

“I sort of shot it. He wasn't happy about that. But I wanted my crew back. I'll be damned if I was going to let him take Spike and Faye.”

“What happened to Jack?”

“We buried him. All the remains have been buried in their own graves. The cops who were there when I went back are looking into trying to identify what victims they can. But in some cases there's not much left.” Jet paused, shook his head. “Damn, that was almost us too.”

“Glad your guys made it out. Can you tell me who's in charge of the burials? I wanna make sure that I do right by Jack.” His head bowed, fist tightening around the neck of the bottle. “I shouldn't have let him walk out that door.”

“We all have those moments.” It haunted Jet—the memory of Spike on that fateful day as he hopped in the _Swordfish_ dashing back to his past the moment fate kicked him in the ass. He raised a glass.

Without looking, Andel clinked his bottle to the glass and they both polished off their drinks. Leaning back, they drifted on the bittersweet music. Soon it would be time to return to the hospital. To visit Spike and Faye, a double edged sword. It was great to see them awake, and yet at the same time hard to watch them lying so prone.

Still, he glanced at Andel … at least they were alive. Unlike Jack. Jet typed in Bob's contact information and sent it to Andel without preamble. The old chief glanced at it and nodded his thanks.

In passing the waitress paused at their table. “Can I get you two anything?”

Andel held up two fingers. “Refills.”


	20. Session 20

_ **Session 20** _

Jet pulled Ed out of the way as a family walked out the front door of the hospital laughing and hugging one another. She hardly noticed the near miss, preoccupied with the two pinwheels in her grasp. “Ed will give the red one to Faye-Faye and the blue one to Spike-person. It's their favorite colors.”

Idly, Jet remarked, “How do you know?”

“Faye-Faye told Ed that people reveal a lot about themselves by what they wear. In the colors they choose, the cut, the fit. She says Spike tries to be casually sexy by rolling his sleeves up because it shows more skin. Showing more skin is sexy … whatever that means.”

He paused, foot hanging in the air for a moment. That wasn't why Spike did it, he liked to keep his forearms free for fighting. At least that's how he explained it once, demonstrating in a bar fight later when he used a guy's jacket sleeve to slingshot him into one of his friends. Yeah, that made more sense anyway for a guy who never bothered to comb his hair.

Walking by a piece of polished steel, Jet became awkwardly self-conscious of his bare arms. If showing skin meant … _Ugh, what am I going on about! This doesn't mean anything more than I like this sleeveless jumpsuit because it's comfortable._

She hit the button for the elevator, humming to herself gleefully. He ruffled her hair as she blew on the pinwheels watching them spin. What the bedridden Spike and Faye were going to be able to do with her gift he had no idea. He was far more confused as to where she'd gotten them from. Somehow—somewhere Ed had an inexhaustible supply of pinwheels. Too bad that wasn't food.

Still, over the last days visiting hours had grown more entertaining, though Jet didn't envy the staff. There were few things more prickly to deal with than Spike and Faye in the midst of a boredom streak. By now they had regained the volume in their voices and after a few days of the cautious medical team starting the process of freeing them from life support—they were making a constant ruckus.

It didn't matter that they were trapped in bed. One didn't need to be vertical to make an impact, Spike was a master at that one. Jet grinned as he remembered the other day, the two of them arguing over betting odds on every little detail from who would get to eat first to who would be entirely free of the equipment. He had to admit the odds were a bit better on Spike, he'd been laid up enough in the past to prove he had an astonishingly quick healing rate. That meant Faye was the unknown factor. She hadn't gotten sick or injured much. In the end, through it all—it was nice to hear them bickering heartily, compared to the silence of that room before.

_Gambling_. Jet chuckled to himself. _The two of them are gambling in an ICU ward as though there is going to be a casino grade payout. Frankly, I'm just happy to have them alive._

The doors to the elevator opened and Ed danced out, spinning the pinwheels are she pirouetted. Ein trotted alongside her in a merry gait, surprisingly they allowed him as a visitor, maybe because they'd all been brought in together and the nurses were smitten with the little furball. “Spinny-winny pinwheel, roundy-roundy goes around. What goes around me comes around and around and around. Ha ha hah hah!”

Entering the ward Jet swiveled out of the way as a doctor rushed past him. Now that he was watching, quite a few of the staff were hastily in the midst of something. Suddenly it struck him—the direction. The doctor rushed into Spike and Faye's room.

_No! No! Not now, it can't be now!_

He raced toward the room, leaving Ed's alarmed cry in his wake as she dashed to catch him. The moment his head was in the door, Faye's frantic eyes caught him. She reached out toward him as if her hand could draw him near. “Jet! You came—did they reach you? … ” she kept speaking but the words ran together into a jumbled blur he had no hope of untangling.

“Slow down. What's the worry?”

She took a deep breath. “It's Spike. This morning everything seemed to be going fine. Then his temperature just shot up out of nowhere he started shaking horribly. In the last hour he hasn't said a coherent word!”

Turning to look at the other bed, Jet's heart skipped ten-thousand beats. The doctor rapidly punched through options on a screen, his expression graver by the second. In the bed Spike lay shuddering and writhing, each breath punctuated by a thin whine. His features contracted in obvious pain, his hand gripping and twisting the blanket at his side. Every inch of his skin was covered in sweat and bright fever patches blossoming on his too pale complexion. Not one, but several of the read outs on the screen were flashing in alarm.

She touched Jet's arm. “This can't be happening.”

“Keep it together, Faye.” It came out so cold. He hated saying that, as inside he was screaming. This was serious, Spike was in obvious agony, and that guy had a high pain tolerance. It looked like they weren't doing much of anything to help him. But that couldn't be right.

Faye reached out toward the door, “Ed, Ein, come here, over on this side, ok? I need to see you guys.” She guided them to the far side. Locked in silence Ed set the pinwheels on Faye's bed and picked Ein up holding him tight as she stared in worry. The dog hung down from her grip, not making a sound. All eyes were on Spike.

The doctor hit a final prompt and then his hand dropped down at his side. “Nurse.” In a moment one came to the end of the bed. “Have the OR prepped immediately. We just can't hold off any longer.” There wasn't even a hesitation, the message left the room.

Jet closed the distance even as the doc was about to leave the room. Glaring into his face, he snapped, “What's going on?”

Taking a hasty step back the doctor stuttered, “Geeesh! Look, we don't have time to even discuss options. I need to take him—”

“Where?” Jet's fist clenched.

“The operating room. I'm sorry, we can't wait any longer for the meds to try and catch up. It's obvious they won't in time. His fever at 104.1 degree is dangerously high, and that's with us trying to pull it back down.”

“Doctor—what's wrong with my partner?”

He held his hands up. “I have to get him down to the OR STAT, Spike's condition is degrading rapidly due to the resulting sepsis. This morning we attempted to restart his liver. There must have been a pocket of an isolated infection in there. The procedure flushed it out, spreading it into his bloodstream. Surgery is our last resort and over the last hours we've run out of options. The numbers are telling a clear story, his original liver can't be saved. We must perform an emergency transplant to even give him a chance at survival. Now, please—step aside. The staff will come and get you once he's come out of the anesthesia.”

Jet moved aside, only to lean forward and grab Spike's clammy hand, this close he felt the heat radiating off him. Spike kept shaking and didn't react at all sending a wave of panic through Jet. “Don't you give up, Spike! We're all right here. You're gonna wake up, and we're all going back to the _Bebop_ together _._ You hear me? I won't take any other scenarios. You hear me kid? Hang in there, you got this!”

Spike's only reaction was to cry out incoherently as the nurse pried their hands apart and pushed Jet clear of the path with a mumbled apology. The sound of Spike's panicked wail pierced Jet's heart.

He watched helplessly as they detached the bed from the wall mount and took Spike from the room as swiftly as they could.

The rattle of a pinwheel broke the stunned silence. Ed inhaled her breath as the blue one turned in her hand. “Nyooo. I didn't get to attach it to his bed. Faye-Faye, do you think he'll like it?”

She brushed the tears from her eyes before hugging Ein now on the bed beside her and sniffled. “Yeah. Course he will.”

Slowly, Jet sank into the chair by her bed and reached out a hand. “Hey … are you ok?”

Shuddering a bit, Faye took the offered hand. “I … I dunno. I was until this morning. I'm nauseous now, but I can't tell if it's from them waking more of me back up or because I'm … I'm scared. We were talking, just joking around. He gradually made less and less sense until all he did was writhe. The staff got more and more worried. It was worse before you arrived.”

Jet gripped her hand tight. “We're all leaving this place together. Alive. You hear me?” He did everything he could to believe the words he said. Because the idea of any different outcome petrified him.

* * *

Inch by inch the world slipped away from Spike in a dreadful landslide. Words barraged him, voices spoke filled with worry, but he could not grasp what they were saying. Every shred of comprehension slipped through his fingers like a greased rope, falling, always falling into a maelstrom.

He tried to open his eyes. The persistent throb of a headache he'd barely acknowledged instantly stabbed him, sealing his eyes shut. His veins—had someone put acid in his veins? The burning matched that theoretical sensation. Not just in one spot, but all over his body, like it was dissolving him alive. His whole body shook with a teeth-chattering intensity, aggravating the sensation. But he couldn't stop it. Not even by clenching his teeth.

What was happening?

He heard a voice muttering and dimly realized it was his own. Though he had no idea what he was saying, nor what he was even trying to say. Stringing words, even just syllables, became a monumental task.

A deeper pain grew. He had to concentrate to focus, to narrow it down from everything else that was happening. It radiated, spreading from his abdomen, as though something had ruptured in his gut. He hadn't been shot by a gun … had he? Hell, it felt like someone had used the _Swordfish's_ plasma cannon on him.

Someone was screaming, crying out … no … there were two voices.

Faye? … yes that was Faye, distantly, as if from underwater.

Who was the other?

A hand touched his forehead, ice cold against his skin. A voice near his ear, “Easy now, shhhh. Calm down. Try not to move. We're doing everything we can.”

Spike realized with horror the other crying voice—was his own! He couldn't stop, he could barely feel himself breathing through everything else. That wasn't Faye beside him, she was too far away. Who the hell was it?

What was going on!

More voices, their words failing to penetrate the haze. But he caught enough to know they were worried. Alarms, racing footsteps, the beeping of buttons on the panel, … and Faye begging.

_Faye … **begging**?_ _Oh shit! This **is** serious! What's wrong with me? Someone tell me what the fuck is wrong!_ But he couldn't get the question out.

Time had no meaning, it just dragged on in a crucible of confusion.

A hand grabbed his. “Don't you give up, Spike!” Jet … that was Jet's voice. He couldn't reach him no matter what he tried. Locked within the prison of his body he couldn't do anything. “We're all right here. You're gonna wake up, and we're all going back to the _ Bebop  _ together _ . _ You hear me? I won't take any other scenarios. You hear me kid? Hang in there, you got this!”

Cold hands pried their fingers apart.  _ No! Don't—that's an anchor I need! _ Spike tried to grasp the hand again. A lifeline, a thread to the world, but it was whisked away thrusting him back into the confused shivering solitude. Shadows swirled, faces from the past. Enemies he had defeated, victims he had slain; wielding guns, knives, swords. Looming figures with vendettas. All while Spike lay prone on the floor, wracked with a fever, unable to move.

_Not this … not again … not all over again!_

A vile laugh split the void. A peel he knew well … Morpheus.  _ “ …  _ _ **I will find you all again** _ _ … ” _

_This is a nightmare! Only a nightmare! Jet beat him, destroyed his world! He's not real … someone wake me up! For fuck's sake, someone wake me up!_

* * *

The doctor heaved a sigh and ran a hand through his hair, his other hand in the pocket of his lab coat over the scrubs. For Jet the past countless hours sitting in the room with Faye and Ed had been agonizing. Not their company, but for the overwhelming pall of fear oppressing them as they stole glances at where Spike should be … and wasn't. When the staff had fetched Jet to come down to the post-op recovery room, he'd left Ed and Ein with Faye. Mainly because she needed the support. On the surface Faye seemed alright, but he read the undercurrent. It was the same one running through his own mind.

“Mr. Jet Black, there's a few things I have to tell you before I can let you in the room … ”

“Is he going to be alright?” Jet interrupted him, leaning in close for the answer.

He deflated a bit, glancing over his shoulder. “Honestly, it's too early to say.”

“What?” All he wanted to hear was that everything was fine. Surgery over, problem fixed.

“Look, you have to understand something. Spike is extremely ill at the moment.”

Ill? Jet could count the number of times Spike had been laid up due to illness on one finger—after he'd been brought out of that hellhole of a prison on Pluto. Aside from a handful of hangovers the only thing that had laid the man up were injuries. Those he had bounced back from remarkably well, often attempting to get up before he should, trying to do things before he was supposed to. He was no stranger to the healing process. But the expression on the doctor's face struck a cord of dread ringing in Jet's ears. Even with Spike's usual antics he had a distinct feeling he wouldn't be capable of that.

The doctor shook his head. “He is ill in more ways than one. He didn't just come by this condition due to the recent dehydration and exposure to the elements. Spike had an underlying advanced case of cirrhosis of the liver. A condition that can be caused by a number of sources, but the most common is alcoholism. Be honest with me … is he a heavy drinker?”

Jet's eyes fell to the floor.

“I take it that's a confirmation. The fact is when we went to restart his liver there wasn't nearly enough left to function properly. Deep inside the organ we found a pocket that housed an infection, including necrotic tissue. That was the source of the sepsis that made him so violently ill. If we hadn't done an emergency transplant and removed it, I am not going to mince words, it would have progressed rapidly to his death. We were within hours of losing him.”

“But,” he wrinkled his brow. “Spike's been in good health. Don't people with that have symptoms?”

“It can run under the radar as long as there is enough functioning organ to limp through. It will rear its head when health is compromised, or enough of it is compromised that it can't sufficiently do its job. In Spike's case he was close to the tipping point before getting caught up in that event. During the dehydration when things shut down, more was compromised and there simply wasn't enough left to be able to come back.”

It shouldn't matter, Jet clamped his hand into a fist. “Now that it's been replaced, he'll be fine. The new one fully functions.”

The doctor held up a hand. “In time. For the moment we've got it in, and he's still on life support for that because it's best if the internal incisions heal a bit first, even on the lab grown ones that allow us to skip tissue typing. He's lucky we don't have to worry about anti-rejection meds. Considering his sepsis, we need his immune system to be fighting that.”

Jet blinked, why was the doctor so worried? It sounded like things went well in there.

“The fact is your friend has a serious systemic infection. We're putting as much antibiotics into him as we can and trying to ease the fever. It's better now, but we've only changed it by one degree. This sets his recovery back a ways. And on top of that, we have to address the habitual drinking.”

“Spike's a grow man, he can ration for himself.”

The doctor shook his head. “The fact that his habit nearly killed him says otherwise. For now that isn't our major worry. Alcohol isn't allowed to patients. But if he's released from the hospital in the future there is a lot of work that needs to be done. He has a serious addiction and it is imperative to find out why.”

He heard that, caught the “if” not “when”. Heaving a sigh, Jet scratched the back of his neck. All of them, except for Ed, drank. Was it really in excess? Right now his head spun with this revelation. He glanced at the door. “Can I see him?”

He nodded. “He's come out of the anesthesia well enough we've pulled the intubation, he's just on normal oxygen. Heh, it's almost like he knows what's going on.”

Rolling his eyes, Jet grumbled, “He should, the guys been through enough procedures.”

The doctor apparently missed it. “He's been conscious for a short while, but not really talkative. I doubt he will be until that fever breaks.”

“Do you think he'll hear me?”

“Yeah. Whether he'll remember anything is another story.”

Jet cocked an eyebrow. “Have you told him what happened?”

He shook his head. “No. Not yet. Chances of him being able process that news as febrile as he is are rather slim. Try to keep him calm. Remember, he is recovering from major surgery.” He gestured to a nurse who opened the door and accompanied Jet inside the room.

The lights were dimmed, at about half, a bunch of monitors, more detailed than the main room, spilled over with information. Spike lay on his back, this time a larger bore IV stuck out just to the side of the hollow by his collarbone and taped securely in place. The line, spit into three channels all of them in use, ran to a pump, humming away as it pushed fluids and medications into him. They'd pulled the IV from his arm. He still shivered, but not as violently as before.

The nurse saw where Jet glanced and pointed to the machine. “An antibiotic cocktail and a few other things to stabilize him. In his case we need to push larger doses. Too much for a regular vein. That's what central lines are for. It looks bad, but it's beneficial.”

Jet sat down on the stool next to the bed and reached out, touching Spike's left hand. The fingers twitched. His eyes cracked open slightly and blinked. It took far too long for them open again. Each time it sent Jet's heart rate through the roof, fearful that it would be the last they had opened. Spike's complexion was still marred by the fever splotches, a bright red stripe across his nose and cheeks as though someone had slapped him. They'd placed a cooling pack on his forehead, an effort to locally control a very critical temperature point. Every breath was long and shallow. The shadow of pain dwelt in his fever bright eyes.

Sepsis. Blood poisoning. Jet knew what it was. He knew the severity. He knew from talking to those who had survived it how the pain lit each vein on fire. No wonder Spike had cried out earlier.

Jet embraced the limp hand ignoring the sweat. He kept his voice soft, just above the hiss of the oxygen. “Hey pard'. Looks like you're awake.” That sounded so ridiculous right as he said it.

All it earned him was a slow blink.

“You know we've been through some crazy ass shit together, and this one … well this one is a real benchmark. But uhh … yeah, I'm not even sure how to approach any of this. It's just a mess.” His voice caught in his throat for a moment. He closed his eyes remembering what the doctor told him, keep him calm—and they hadn't told him what was wrong. Spike's gaze was filled with a feverish confusion and he shivered under the blankets. “Spike, you have to understand something. You're very sick and you've just been through a serious lifesaving surgery. When this is over, when your life isn't in danger, we're going to have a long overdue talk. But for now, you just heal, you just get better. Ok?”

It was very weak, but he thought he felt the fingers try to squeeze his hand. Spike's eyes were barely open, just dark slivers.

Jet forced a smile, taking it as a response. “I knew you were there listening. I'm gonna stay here for a bit, til they kick me out. You aren't alone, pard. Not from the moment you and I ran into each other at that dive bar years ago. We're family now, whether you realize it or not. That's why I let you stay. You're like my crazy ass brother.”

Basking in the memories Jet's smile became genuine. “All those years ago I never would have imagined what that invitation would lead to. The ship had been quiet before your brand of chaos. Now when you are gone there's something missing. The same with the girls. It's not a home without every single one of you. So … don't you dare give up on me.”

It was more of a series of exhales than words, but Jet heard it, “ … don't … let … me …. go … ”

Bending over, Jet touched his forehead to their clasped hands. “I won't, partner. I won't this time.”


	21. Session 21

_ **Session 21** _

Shadows dominated the bridge of the _Bebop_ as Jet sat on the floor in front of the pilot console. The multicolored night lights of Alba city cast over the bow showing her age. This old girl had really been around. Dents and dings, deep ruts worn into her deck in the formations of the different monocrafts' landing gear.

Three.

Not just the _Hammerhead_ parked in the ship's bay.

With his knees drawn up and elbows resting on them, Jet stared out at the shimmering lights feeling adrift. Even though his ship was docked … he wasn't. Inside his head he struggled against a raging storm that threatened his family. Only this one couldn't be fought through guns, fists, or a barnstorming flight. He had no idea how to even begin this fight to keep his family.

Staring into the palm of his prosthetic hand he flexed it. Loss was not a stranger to him. Loss of limb, loss of love, loss of his faith in the ISSP along with his career … somehow he had lumbered onward, charted a new damn coarse out of the void left behind. All of that had been on his own. Now he wasn't alone … and he didn't want to be. The way they had all haphazardly come together didn't matter. They. Were. Family.

They needed him now. But the thought of going back to that hospital room tomorrow paralyzed him. What could he do? He wasn't a nurse, or a doctor, or a surgeon … all he could offer were words to a panic stricken Faye and a feverishly ill Spike who had ceased to respond by the time Jet was escorted from the room.

What could he do? The question stuck to him like the stale scent of cigarette smoke to a sofa.

The whisper of a shadow slunk up next to him. Only the sheen of the reflected light off her goggles betrayed Ed's barefoot approach.

Jet didn't look her way as he held out a hand to her. “Come here, kid.”

Without a word she wedged herself in his lap, looking out at the city dominated by the full light of Phobos and Deimos, Mars's two moons. “Why is Jet-person so sad?”

He had to clear his throat. “I'm not sad …” there was no point in lying. Ed was perceptive. “I'm worried.”

“About what?”

Gripping her shoulder, he failed to suppress the shudder. “About our family.”

Her reply was so soft, but confident. “You don't have to worry. Faye-Faye always comes back when she needs something. And Spike-person won't leave for good. He told Ed so. _Bebop_ is his home.”

“We don't always get a choice, nothing is certain. Listen Ed, Spike is very sick … ”

She turned her head and looked up at him. “Spike-person was wheezy when he came home from prison. He got better cause we made him all better. Jet-person made him drink that nasty stuff and he got better.”

_Why couldn't it be that easy this time?_ Jet heaved a long sigh ruffling her hair behind the goggles.

Ed held out the photos she had plucked from the side of the console. Jet as a young boy fishing with his parents on the deck of this very ship. A young Faye posed with her parents in a more formal portrait. Ed as a toddler in the arms of her folks. “ _Bebop_ Family.” She grinned.

There was a photo missing … but Ed had drawn in crayon a version of Spike with his stick figure parents. It was obvious by the mop of green scribbled hair. Tears burned at the edges of Jet's eyes as he hugged Ed close.

“Oooookkkkkk … did Ed make Jet-person feel better?”

He held her back. “Thank you for trying, kiddo. Now, why don't you go to bed. Tomorrow we'll go back for a visit.”

“And Spike-person will be awake?”

“Maybe. We'll see together, ok?”

Her bare feet slapped the deck, and only then did Jet realize she still had the photos. Let her keep them for now. Sleep was not coming to him. Not one wink.

At length he wandered the ship accompanied only by his own footsteps, not even remembering when he decided on this activity. The rattle of an object caught his attention. He paused and slid his gaze down. His boot had tapped an empty beer bottle. Bending down he plucked it up and never before had he felt such a powerful wave of hatred. This had nearly taken his best friend.

… and would again.

_Shit!_ He bowed his head debating what to do. Holding the bottle he trudged toward his bonsai room. There on the shelves the Six Pack crouched like strange statuary, powered down. He had forgotten about the little pests, apparently so had Ed. He was about the throw the bottle into the trash can when he stared at it again, quirking a brow.

He had to do something. Lying down would do him no good. Sleep would not come any time soon.

Hitting the hidden switch on Qi, almost immediately the eyes focused and the little robotic compsognathus looked up at him. Jet held the bottle up before the chicken sized creature. “Alright, you guys wanna make up for trashing my ship earlier?”

Qi nodded rapidly.

“Fine, you can wake up your buddies and here's what I want you to do to curry favor with me. You know what alcohol bottles are, right? Like this.”

Qi peeped and chirruped in compliance.

Pointing around the ship, Jet's booming voice commanded, “I want you guys to hunt through **every** inch of this ship and dig out every alcohol bottle and bring it to the ship bay. Every. Single. One. Got it?”

Swiftly Qi darted to each of the five others and powered them up in rapid succession. In a series of high pitched chirps, and a rapid tap of metal claws against the glass bottle. The other five cocked their heads and answered back.

In streaks of silver they darted into the depths of the darkened ship.

* * *

Dawn reached fingers of light into the ship bay. Bottles clanked together as Jet lumbered up and tucked them into the cockpit of the _Hammerhead._ The strike of boots against the decking turned his head. He looked up to find Bob, confusion on his face as he tugged his hat. “You uhhh … having another picnic somewhere?”

Jet glanced down at the box of various liquor bottles in his hands, one of which was Spike's special bottle of previously not-so-hidden whiskey. “Nah, doing a bit of ship cleaning. You done with the burials?”

“Yeah. Took us a while, but we photographed any belongings and numbered the remains and graves. There's a special group assigned to seeing if they can match identities to missing persons. Gonna be quite the task as there isn't much to go on.” Scratching his chin, he shook his head. “Kinda specific stuff you're cleaning out, there.”

Jet grunted and tucked the box inside his ship. “There's a reason.”

He ambled forward and picked up a half full bottle of vodka. “Love to know what warrants pitching perfectly good stock.”

“You want some of it? Take it. It's yours as long as it doesn't enter the _Bebop_ ever again.”

“So the Black Dog is becoming a teetotaler. Never thought I would see the day.”

His hefted up another box. _How did we have this much aboard? I never imagined there was **this** much!_ “Not sure what I'm becoming. But this process isn't for me.”

“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow. “Who is it for?”

“Spike.”

“Didn't know he was **that** big of a problem.”

Climbing back down from the cockpit, he shook his head. “He's not, not in that way. It's just that … ” saying it stung, but Bob knew who Spike was. They'd worked together. “Spike is fighting for his life right now because he effectively drank his liver to death.”

Bob took a step back. “Whoa. Really?”

Pointing a finger, Jet barked. “Not a drop on board when he comes back.”

“Jet, you expectin' him to quit cold turkey?”

Hefting another box, he scowled. “When he comes back I'm not giving him an option.”

* * *

Weary from his sleepless night, Jet let Ed dash into the room ahead of him. To his surprise, when he looked down he found Ein plodding next to him, looking up with concern in his eyes.

_Great, I'm seeing human emotion in a dog now—I'm so tired._ Still, he didn't regret his actions. Later he would figure out where to take the glass treasure hoard for depositing. “Hey Ein, you're a dog, you know where to bury things right? So what do you think?”

Ein snuffed and shook his head, temporarily breaking stride.

Jet heaved a sigh and wandered into the room to a barrage of Ed's excited chatter at Faye as Ed played with the red pinwheel at the foot of her bed. “Oh, I should put Spike's on his for him!” she interrupted herself mid-sentence and blissfully peeled off losing herself in the task of attaching it to the foot of his bed as she hummed.

Coming to Faye's side between the two beds Jet offered her a somber smile. “You're awake.”

Faye's eyes had dark bags beneath them. She looked drained but forced a smile. “Yeah, I've been awake for a while now.” Her gaze couldn't help but wander over.

Now Jet looked at the other bed hoping for a better sight then yesterday. His hope was instantly dashed against the rocks of reality.

Spike lay covered in a sheen of sweat, his complexion pale on his gaunt features. Already it was obvious his muscle mass was wasting away—most visible around the top edge of his arm cast there was more room then had previously been. The fever rash still evident. He shivered, not as violently as before, but it still plagued him. Every breath was slow and shallow. The monitors tracked volumes of numbers, too many for a layman to follow. Jet focused on his temperature, 103.7. Not good. “Has he been awake?”

An answer didn't come right away, he looked at her to find her staring at her hands, what looked like tears in the corner of her eyes. “Last night … was difficult. No, he's barely conscious. But that's not the worst of it. He's been wracked with fever dreams, nightmares off and on the whole night. It's so obvious, it even raises his pulse when it happens. The damn beeping … it's so … soo … ”

“Are they doing anything? Waking him up?”

“They try.” She hugged herself, looking so fragile under the covers, so unlike herself. “But there's not much they can do. I can't reach him. I can't comfort him. Jet … I'm so scared.”

He knelt down so he could catch her gaze. She was trembling. “Spike's gonna be alright.”

“Do we know that for sure?”

There was no way to answer that without lying.

“Every twinge, every strange sensation within me … the monitor marks the racing of _my_ pulse making it all worse … feeding into the panic.” She couldn't curl into a ball, but it was obvious she was trying. “What if it's not just him … what if I'm a ticking time bomb as well. What if—”

Laying a finger beneath her chin he made her meet his gaze. “You're in good hands. Just try to stay calm, ok? At the moment your solidly stable, right?”

She bit her lip and nodded, a tear tracing a path down her cheek.

“Keep believing that. And keep believing that Spike's gonna pull through. You're both tough. Do you think he's gonna let you win that bet?”

The rattle of the pinwheel turned their heads. Ed spun the dark blue wheel by blowing on it and giggling. “When Spike wakes up he can do it too.”

Jet smiled, somberly. “Sure kid.”

A couple of nurses entered with a cart, wheeling it over toward Spike. One of them held up her hand and smiled. “You all know one another. You can stay. We'll be in here for a bit. Don't mind us.” They gently coaxed Ed over toward Jet, before they pulled Spike's blanket back exposing everything, all the tubes rammed into the strange device around his lower gut keeping him alive, the large thick bandage wrapped above it hugging his lowers ribs. The nurse smiled pleasantly even though his eyes were closed, her voice soft as she announced before touching him, “Ok honey, this should feel good. Might even help with that fever. Too bad we couldn't just give you a nice cool full bath, but there are reasons that can't happen.”

With the aid of the other nurse they tugged the open hospital shirt off leaving his loose hospital pants on. A bit of dignity, if that could even be achieved. They spread a protective waterproof sheet beneath him and then reached into a bowl of water wringing out a sponge. Gently, she began to scrub his bare skin, careful of the central IV. The other nurse helped to shift him as they cleaned the sweat off his skin.

“That's gotta feel cooler, doesn't it?” It seemed cruel, speaking to him as if in conversation, like he could respond.

Right as the nurse wiped the side of his neck, Spike barely opened his eyes before they closed again. That wasn't pleasure, he just … wasn't even there.

“Unbelievable.” Jet ran a hand over his head, this was no act. “Now I know Spike's _truly_ extremely ill. There are two cute nurses giving him a sponge bath and he's not even trying to watch.”

They were very tender with him, at last removing the spent cool pack from his forehead, wiping it down and putting a fresh one on. “Give that a bit, it should help. I know, fevers are tough. Really take a lot out of ya, huh. Just hang in there, once it breaks you'll feel better.”

Finished with that task, they cut the bandage and pulled it out from under him.

Now Jet got his first glimpse at the surgical scar. His breath caught in his chest. Spike had gotten slugs extracted before, leaving behind temporary pockmarks before he had the scars removed. Small things. Then there was the horrid slice Vicious had left in his side made worse by the abuse in his prison stint. That had been a sight. This … this was something altogether different. The incision formed an inverted V almost tracing the bottom of his rib cage, just a bit lower. It wasn't small either, each side several inches. That was going to scar—badly!

There was a drain protruding from one end and the nurse carefully flushed it onto a piece of gauze. “Phew, at least that looks nice and clear.” She squeezed his hand. “Gotta have some good news right? So now all we have to do is clean this up. Then we can let you rest. Ok? Spike, can you open your eyes for me a bit?”

It took a while, she had already cleaned one section of the incision. Spike shifted slowly, whether from her words or the sensation of something touching that gruesome mark, Jet could only guess. Tiny slivers of dark brown emerged between his eyelids, not much more. Exhaustion claimed him.

The nurse kept that smile on her face. “Oh look, we have eyes! I knew you were awake. Hang on, this one might sting a bit.”

When she touched the cloth to the more bruised section he winced and tried to shift away. The other nurse gently held him still.

“I'm sorry. But I have to clean it. Almost done … hang with me a bit longer.” She finished swiftly enough and they re-bandaged it with a long, wide strip before easing his limp body into a clean open shirt rolling the sleeve up past the cast and tucking him back in. She looked at the monitor and punched a couple numbers. “There, let's turn that up a bit more, see if we can't pull that stubborn fever down. Now, we'll let you rest. See you for the next bandage change.”

She seemed to catch Jet's concerned gaze, wandering closer she took his hand. “He's going to get worse before he gets better. That's expected. We're having a hard time keeping the fever controlled, and to force enough nutrients through the IV for the metabolic load of fighting this. The good news is he's still breathing well enough on his own, and his heart is strong. Hold on, once the fever breaks I promise you we'll be able to get him stronger again. Right now everything is going to fighting the sepsis.”

“If I talk to him … will he hear me?”

She nodded. “He's weak, but he's there.” She gestured toward the bed before pushing the cart out the door.

Jet pulled the chair over and glanced at Faye. Slowly, he turned back to Spike. “Hey. Everyone's here again. Faye says you had a rough night. She wanted to wake you up, but she couldn't.”

Little reaction, Spike's chest rose and fell slowly. With the cool pack on his forehead he had at least ceased to shiver, lying still now. Too still.

“Spike … looks like I'm gonna win the bet.” Faye gripped the edge of her blanket with white-knuckles, her eyes shut tight as her voice trembled, “But … I … I don't want to. I want you to get up and beat me to the finish line. You hear me? I **want** to lose to you, you asshole! Don't you **dare** give up! Get better! That's an **order.** ”

Abandoning the chair, Jet wrapped his arms around her as much as he could, holding Faye close as she cried, her tears soaking into his jumpsuit. He couldn't help Spike at the moment, but Faye was another story. She needed him. Now.

“I shouldn't have said that!”

“Faye … ” he rubbed her back gently, “say whatever you need to. I'm here, I'm listening.”

Another pairs of hands joined the huddle. “Ed is listening too, Faye-Faye.”


	22. Session 22

_ **Session 22** _

Faye absently pushed the button on her bed, lifting the head up a bit, fortunately not enough to trigger any pain in her abdomen from the tubes and wires embedded in her—that fact she tried not to contemplate. She stared at the strange woman in the room, seated in the chair between hers and Spike's bed. After another restless night wrestling with the fever the doc had doped him up with something strong enough that he was gone to this world, a temporary respite from the battle.

Dr. Regina Holt sat with her hands perfectly folded on her knee. A moment before, when she'd asked the question, she'd run a hand through her mousy hair, a soft smile immaculately maintained. The rest of the world seemed to no longer exist to her. Just Faye … only Faye.

And that hyper-focus was uncomfortable. Her fingers toyed with the blanket, with the bandage over her IV, with the damn tube itself. She needed it right now. The fluids, the meds, it was a lifeline—she was compromised, fragile, shivering even though she wasn't cold. Was she too warm now? No … yes, maybe?

“Ms. Valentine, it's ok if you can't answer at the moment. Just shake your head and we can move on for now. There is no pressure here.” Holt's voice was soft and comforting. “Take your time.”

“It's not … ” Faye's voice trembled, catching her off guard, “it's not that I don't want to … ” Her thoughts circled around and around, like a blender on high speed. “I just don't even know how to explain what happened. I don't think you'd believe me.”

She laughed. “I'm a psychiatrist. Trust me, I've probably heard it before.”

“You're going to call me crazy, and I don't think I can handle that right now.”

“I promise, I will not call you crazy.”

_We'll see about that._ “Ok.” Faye tugged on her shirt sleeves and did her damnedest to explain the events in Somnus. To her surprise, Holt did not interrupt. “Sooo, thanks to that crazy psycho we woke up here on life support. I've been having terrible nightmares ever since, and so has he.”

Holt held up a hand. “Let's not worry about him at the moment, I'll be holding sessions with him once he's up to it. For now you are my concern.” Her eyebrow cocked. “So let me get this straight. A disembodied man held you all captive in an alternate dimension and tortured you all with your desires and dreams in an attempt to enslave your … uhhh … ghosts?”

Faye held the blanket up to her chest. “I knew it, you think I'm crazy and this was all some nightmare.”

“Now I didn't say that. And in the end it doesn't matter what **I** think. You believe it. To you it was real. It unearthed some very painful memories for you as this _man_ toyed with your subconscious. This understandably bothers you. Would you agree?”

She bit her lip and nodded once. That was all she could muster, and she hoped Holt caught it. How foolish it seemed. In her head it consumed her like a miasma that no matter what she did it wouldn't dissipate. Spoken aloud she suddenly sounded little more than a child troubled with night terrors. This shit couldn't possibly have happened! And yet it had—it had felt so real!

“Ms. Valentine,” a hand rested on hers, “look up at me. Take a few deep breaths. You are alright, you are safe in the real world. Are you with me now?”

The touch was warm, bearing a pulse that beat against her skin. Faye concentrated on it as she breathed, calming her runaway pulse. At length, once she had collected herself, she nodded. “S—sorry about that.”

“Don't apologize. What you felt was real. We are going to work through this, sort it out and help you move on. That is what I am here for. I can tell immediately that you have deep seated trauma, and not merely recent. Tell me, if you can, what this Morpheus presented to you in his torture chamber what struck you the deepest?”

Her eyes widened, tears blinding her. She knew instantly as her jaw locked in place.

“What I am asking is by no means easy to face. It's alright if this is too much, just point to the door and we will conclude for the day. We can try again tomorrow. There is no fixed timeline for this.”

The ice cold grip of isolation threatened her. Even though she was warm—frigid daggers stabbed into her flesh. Not any real memory, but an augmented one. After all, she had been unconscious when frozen, fully thawed by the time she was brought out of suspension. But Morpheus had forced her to feel it. Forced her to watch her parents smile and laugh as she sunk into it, as the world passed her by going on, forgetting about her.

Solitude. Always alone! Alone! Terribly alone!

Before she realized it she was sobbing into her hands, tears dripping through her fingers.

There were no words, no commands telling her to stop crying. A gentle hand laid on her shoulder, waiting patiently at her side, the other hand offering a tissue. Not just one, but one after the next until a whole pile of the crumpled wads lay on her lap like a forest of snot covered trees.

Faye looked up into the soft eyes as Holt smiled somberly. “Those tears needed to come out. This is part of the process. I think we've done enough for today.”

“But,” she sniffled, “I haven't told you much of anything.”

“More than you know.” Holt wiped a tear from her cheek. “This is going to take a number of sessions. There is no reason to rush things. Tomorrow is another day.”

Laying back in her bed, Faye stared at the ceiling for a bit. It was quiet in the room. Peaceful. Inside she even felt a bit better. A bit. She shifted her eyes to Spike, still sound in a drugged sleep. “Wonder if she can make you ball your eyes out … lunkhead. Suppose we'll get to see soon enough.”

* * *

Shadows traced through the deep reaches of the  _Bebop_ . This crawl space was hard to get to, which was precisely why Ed had chosen it. A small lantern lit the space as she thumbed through the photos gazing at the others with their folks. 

Jet with a mop of dark windblown hair on the deck of the ship holding up a fish. Ambition in his eyes. So pure and hopeful. He was steady and so proud. The man she knew was different. Beneath the armor of his smile Jet was jaded, bruised and tender from the betrayals in his life. Ed knew his heart as though it could speak directly to her. All he wanted was to do well by those he chose to trust in. 

Faye posed in her photo with her slightly longer hair and awkward smile. She looked so confident in front of her parents. Not like now. She tried to show the world that she was hard as stone and infallible. But Ed knew different. Beneath the makeup, the clothing, and the attitude, Faye was a confused child left behind when the solar system moved on without her. In the fairy tale when Sleeping Beauty wakes up the world hadn't changed—but it should have. Faye didn't get her prince either, she got an asshole and a whole lotta debt.

Staring at the scribbled drawing, Ed sighed. Then there was Spike. Always acting so tough. Well, he **was** tough, that wasn't **all** an act, but he wasn't invulnerable. She'd watched him as he was healing on the couch, seen him wincing, witnessed his writhing in his nightmares. Spike said he didn't care about anything. But … Spike lied. The truth was in his eyes if she could catch them at the right angle when he didn't know she was watching.

Setting the photos on the metal plates, Ed watched her bare toes curl and uncurl. The clink of metal caught her attention as a shimmer of metallic feathers entered the circle lantern light. Qi stared at her through mechanical eyes, shockingly emotive for a robot. It his claws one of her pinwheels, a rainbow colored one.

“Ed is in ponders what to do. Jet is sad and worried. Faye is frightened. Spike's gots the sickness … and Ed …” She picked up the photo of herself as a toddler in the arms of a mother she barely remembered and a father she hardly knew, “Ed doesn't want to lose another family.”

Qi chirruped and curled up next to Ed in the crawlspace.

“Does Qi and the Six Pack know how to fix families?”

The dinosaur stared at her blankly for a long minute before shaking its head.

“Oh.” Ed dropped the photo and picked up the chicken sized creature, settling Qi in her lap like she would Ein. “Edward doesn't either. Guess I gotta figure this out, cause the adults are the lost ones.” She sighed. “It's a chess game … with no board … and invisible pieces.”

* * *

Jet wandered into the room staring at his shoes. It had been three mornings of the same ol' same ol'. Faye awake and worried all to hell, with good reason as the doctors progressed with waking the rest of her back up. And Spike trapped in a feverish haze. Jet almost didn't want to look up.

Shock slapped him upside the head. Faye was sleeping soundly. Meanwhile Spike blinked wearily up at him. Instead of a cooling pack, he had a folded wash cloth on his forehead and a bowl of cool water on the side table. “Hey,” he croaked.

“Spike … you're … ” Jet glanced at the readout, Spike's temperature was 101.6, “the fever broke!”

“Yeah, a couple hours ago.” There was little energy to his voice, but he seemed eager to try and talk anyway.

Sitting in the chair, Jet took the warm cloth and refreshed it, wringing it into the bowl. The moment he replaced it on Spike's forehead the relief was visible.“Good to see you awake. How you feeling?”

He took a slow breath and let it out. “I feel like I fell out of a cathedral window … been skewered by the Swordfish on my way down …” rolling his eyes with a groan he added, “then landed on the pile of glass shards all point up. That about sums it up.” His eyes narrowed at the end of the bed—the pinwheel. “I see Ed's been here.”

Jet chuckled. “Yeah, looks like we've still missed a stash of her toys.”

Turning his gaze back to him, the corners of his eyes creased. “Jet … what the hell happened to me?”

The question caught him off guard, but it shouldn't have. He exhaled through his nose. “You had a lifesaving operation, pard.”

“Which means … ? Come on, no one will tell me anything. I'm never ill … how the hell did I get so damn sick?”

That caught in his throat. He couldn't lock eyes with Spike, couldn't even look his way. The full answer—no! Now was not the time for the full answer.

“Tell me!” Even through the exhaustion the acid tone bit.

Jet bowed his head. “It was an emergency. There'd been no time. Spike … your liver had shut down and basically was rotting inside you.”

The delay hung in the air between them. “What? … ” His left hand hovered over his bandaged gut beneath the covers, shock in his eyes. “How?”

This was not a conversation for now. Jet looked away, unable to meet Spike's confused stare. He was still feverish, but at least now able to hold a conversation.

“Shit.” His hand flopped at his side. “This is the second time in my life I woke up to learn that part of me had been replaced.”

“You ok, pard?”

He shrugged against the pillow. “Not exactly like I could have said no either time. But … fuck me … I guess that explains the damn fever. Wait, tell me they did a matchless one, the last thing I need is to be on anti-rejection meds for the rest of my life.”

Jet blinked, he'd expected something more, something else. “I uh … no, they used a lab-grown one without tissue tags. Said you needed to be off the immuno-suppressants so you could fight the sepsis.”

“Sepsis? Huh, that's not a word I wanted to hear.” As his eyes rolled, it shifted the cloth on his forehead. “Well, that means Faye's gonna win the bet and get out of bed first at this rate. Looks like I owe her my whiskey reserve bottle.”

Jet winced. Luckily Spike was staring out the window and missed it.

This was a talk for another day.

Footsteps caught his attention. Jet glanced up as the doctor walked to the other side of Spike's bed. Spike's weary gaze followed him.

“So, my patient is finally awake.”

He exhaled, “Screw you.”

“Spike!” Jet sat up straighter in the chair. “Is that the way to talk to the man who saved your life?”

Chuckling, the doctor waved a dismissive hand. “I'm not surprised he's a bit sour. We'll just chalk that up to the fever.”

“Whatever.”

Jet heaved a long sigh. In a way it was priceless to hear his voice again. But the words, those were hard, even though they were trademark Spike.

Studying the monitors the doctor nodded. “Much more encouraging today. Your body has been through a lot with the transplant, enough really for the moment. So we're going to hold off a day or two more—wait for the rest of that fever to diminish before we try starting anything else up. Give a bit of leveling off time.”

Spike eyed him, hostility in his lethargic gaze.

The doc caught it. “I know, I'm sorry. We took a shot that things were stable enough. The scans didn't show us the cirrhosis was **that** extreme.”

The caught his attention. “Wait … cirrhosis?”

Jet looked at the floor as Spike glanced his way before turning back to the doc, his tone a bit more frantic. “That's caused by … ”

“Prolonged alcohol poisoning. Yes.” The doctor patted his shoulder. “The good news is the refuge of that disease has been removed. The bad news, the cause hasn't. For now, don't worry. We'll just take this slowly and you'll be up in and about in due time.”

“Hey doc, when can I eat again?”

His smile stiffened and he patted the shoulder again. “Let's just take things slowly.”

Once he left, Spike grumbled, “Well now, that was a complete lack of an answer. Stubborn-ass, tight-lipped doctor.”

Unable to help himself, Jet chuckled. Good ol' Spike.


	23. Session 23

_ **Session 23** _

Ein's claws clacked on the tile floor as Jet glanced down. “Hey Ed, I'm not so sure it's a good idea to bring him today.”

“Of course it is.” She said cheerily, spinning as she gamboled past the nurses. “Ein is part of the Bebop family. He says he wants to help Spike-person and Faye-Faye feel the betters. So he comes.”

He sighed, his sleep-deprived brain unable to string enough of a denial to voice. So he let it stand, there was little point in arguing as they crossed the threshold into the hospital room.

Faye reclined in her raised bed, the moment she looked up from her book she put it in her lap and waved meekly. Her eyes a bit brighter than before. An odd odor hung in the room teasing Jet's nostrils. The stale aroma of … actual food?

“Come on in guys. Good to see you.” Faye gestured them closer and whispered, “Careful, Spike's in a rather foul mood.”

Jet tried to hide a glance over his shoulder as he kept his gruff voice down, “Well, the guy is still recovering from major surgery, shouldn't you cut him some slack?” In the other bed Spike lay flat on his back staring out the window away from Faye, an obvious scowl on his face. His color looked remarkably better than the other day. However there was a stark reminder of how much further he had to go yet, the larger IV still secured near his collarbone.

“It's not that.” She folded her hands, the thumbs circling around one another. “It's that …” she blushed, “I got to eat solid food today.”

Jet groaned into his palm. “Let me guess … ”

She shook her head. “Word is not for several more days and that's only if things remain stable.”

Spike growled, “Yeah yeah yeah, rub it in!” His outburst followed by a rather loud squealy rumble, enough that he winched.

Padding up to Spike's bedside Ed clutched Ein to her chest, her jaw hanging open. “Spike's tummy growls louder than his mouth.”

“Course I'm hungry! I haven't eaten in … in … shit, I don't even know how long it's been!” Spike ground his teeth. “You didn't have to eat it in front of me, Faye!

She blinked, “Uhhh, I'm still bedridden, like you. Where else would I—”

“Dammit! I need actual food to heal, don't they know that?” He slammed his right hand down on the bed and a second later hissed as he lifted the encasted arm up, cradling it with a strained whimper.

“Way to go, Lunkhead.” She heaved a sigh. “And you have two hours before your next pain meds.”

His reply was considerably higher pitched, “Shut up!”

Jet rolled his eyes and smirked, at least this was normal for them. “I know this is tough, pard, but there really is a good reason.”

Spike turned his half-lidded eyes up to Jet. “You're seriously going to lecture me on this? **Now**? Look, I'm still drawing breath. Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful for that. But I can't smoke in here, they've taken my pack and lighter. I can't drink to take the damn edge off. I feel like shit and there's not much that anyone can do about it, except maybe let me complain a bit! Got it, buddy?”

The moment he mentioned drinking Jet barely concealed the flinch, even Ein's ears flattened as he scrambled out of Ed's arms and up onto Spike's bed, settling beside him. Spike didn't seem to notice.

Turning to Faye, Jet shrugged, “For once you're right. He's salty.”

Spike snarled. “Salty ain't the half of it! You don't know how much I'd kill for a hamburger right now.” It ended in a whimper as he shut his eyes. “And maybe something stronger than morphine … or more of it … ”

Faye shrugged. “There's always cryo. They could wake you up once you're all healed.”

“Heh heh. No way I'm becoming a human-cicle.”

“Wait, don't tell me that there's something I went through that the might Spike can't face.”

“That's enough damn procedures for me. How long did they say it would be til I walk out of here?”

Jet folded his arms. “For one, when you **can** actually walk. For two, you have to be strong enough to even try.”

“Fuck me! Don't look at me like that, Jet.” He attempted to point with the fingers through the casted arm which only made the gesture pathetically comical. Jet fought the urge to chuckle as Spike continued, “This time it wasn't my fault things went sideways. Fuck, I was barely even conscious when you guys carried me into that place.”

Eyeing the readout on the computer screen, Jet raised an eyebrow. His fever was below one hundred, edging toward normal. Progress. “We'll talk about this later.”

Spike sought refuge in looking back out the window and muttered, “I just want to leave all this disaster behind me, be back on the ship again.”

Resting a hand on Spike's shoulder Jet gave it a little squeeze. “Soon enough, you'll see. We'll put all this behind us … including the medical bill.”

“Tsh!” Spike stiffened, eyes wide before he cast them down at his hand. It was barely above a whisper, “Shit … I'm sorry.”

That took the piss and vinegar out of him. “As I said, we'll settle this later. But you always try and make things more difficult.”

“I do not.”

Ed spun the pinwheel at the end of his bed and pointed to Ein as the little dog shuffled closer. “He wants to kiss you better.”

“Gonna take a lot more than some dog slobber for that, kid.”

Ein whined, and licked Spike's good hand.

* * *

Spike eyed Faye as she leaned back in her own bed. The nurse had given her a set of virtual reality glasses and sound-blocking headphones. _Probably enjoying some virtual trip to a beach on Ganymede or Europa by the smile on her face. Unbelievable that she could be comfortable with a faux environment after what we'd been through._

He made a rude noise before locking eyes with the mousy-haired woman sitting in the chair beside him.

Holt waved a hand. “She can't hear what we're saying. And the staff has instructions not to enter unless the alert light comes on. These sessions are purely confidential.”

_Like that matters. No way I'm going to spout off about what I've done. Pardoned or not, I won't take that chance to be betrayed again._

She leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. “You don't have to answer my questions if you don't want to. We can just stare at one another for a while if that's how you wanna do things.”

Spike intended to do just that. This was the first day since the surgery his temp had been even close to normal. They'd cautiously coaxed a bit more of him back to life, but not enough to take the damn neck IV out. He hated that damn thing, it felt weird and he always saw it in the corner of his eye. He hated being here, tethered to all this shit. Reliant on it. This wasn't living. Wasn't life. It was just … existing.

… _Which you've already done a good fuckin' deal of. How many years wasted in a dream-walking haze all while the past stalked up to smack you over the damn head! Moron!_

Slowly he became aware of it, she was watching him. Not just his face, but lower. He glanced down to find his fingers stirring against the covers, grasping and winding them. A smile grew and reached her eyes. “You're a smoker.”

He clamped his hand into a fist, hooding his gaze as he exhaled sharply.

“You don't need to talk, Spike. Your body does it for you.”

“Son of a … ” _Damn betraying fixation!_ He shut his mouth and looked away from her searching eyes. It was a gesture of defeat, but he **chose** to consider it as disinterest. Examining his past fuck ups didn't interest him. What good would it do? It's not like he could go back and change what happened, the choices he'd made, the clues he'd missed out of blind loyalty—it was all passages in hyperspace, dark gates long since passed. 

Holt's soft voice penetrated like droplets of water on the surface of a pond. “Men like you are prone to addictions of all sorts. Methods to relieve the stress, to bury the pain of inflicting inhumane acts on others.”

His fist trembled. “You don't know me.”

“You are right, I don't.” The chair springs squeaked as she shifted. “But I suspect that actually makes two of us.”

He snorted. “What a load of bullshit. I know who I am.”

She laughed shortly, “Mmm hmm. Sure you do.”

Muscles ached over the sustained tension in his fist, even his right hand was trying and the cast made it harder. His eyes caught the doodle Ed had done, something he hadn't noticed til now. It had to be while he'd been delirious, that crazy doodle face of her icons on the computer and the word Lunkhead in a flowery script.  _Ed!_

“Spike, what are you trying to keep hidden? Do you even know anymore?”

He glanced up, narrowing his eyes at her. “Hidden? I have no idea what you're talking about!” _That didn't come off as nonchalant, not even close._

Her expression was rock steady to the point that Spike felt the weight of it as she smiled … a bit too pleasantly. “And that kind of vehement reaction is so typical of a person who _doesn't need counseling._ ”

“I … ” the rest died in his throat as she crossed her arms over her chest and locked his tongue up with a stern expression.

“Tell me, have you heard the expression about the kettle?”

The only way he could get his power of speech back was to look away from her, finding refuge in the daylight view of the city beyond the window. “Pot calls it black?”

“Smart, but not the one I was going for. The kettle on the stove makes the most noise when it boils—but only if it can vent. A closed kettle has another name—pressure cooker.”

_Ok, that's a new one, and I highly doubt anyone ever said that._

“Spike, you're the biggest damn pressure cooker I've ever seen.”

“Huh?” He stared back at her. She couldn't be serious … but if he was reading her right—she was!

Folding her hands over her knee she grinned. “What's cookin' in that head of yours?”

_Cooking? Food?_ Spike whimpered, now imagining a smorgasbord he didn't know when he would get the chance to taste again. For now just endless cotton mouth.

Holt chuckled, pointing with a finger. “And you could be eating sooner if you hadn't poisoned your original liver to the point of rotting. Which, you know, _normal_ people do. So tell me, ex-syndicate boy … what thoughts are you drowning in?”

If he could have gotten up and stalked out he would have. But even just a faint shift of his abdomen reminded him of all the tubes still inserted, tethering him to the damn bed keeping him alive and captive at the same time. His crest was falling, rapidly.

“I've pried out tougher patients than you.” Holt lifted an eyebrow. “So, we can end the charades now, or I can keep reading the betrayal of your body language. Ohhhh ho, that was an interesting reaction!”

Spike blinked and stared at her.  _Reaction? What reaction? I didn't even do anything …_

Her smile only grew wider the more he fought to replace his rock solid facade. “You may have been able to fool a great many into believing you were invulnerable. But, the truth—no one is. No matter how much you try to bury, there is one set of eyes you cannot fool. Your own. No bottle can numb that forever.”

He heard his heart beating in his ears, like the footsteps echoing in the alley, the tick of a clock, time the most merciless of pursuers—relentless. He didn't want to go back down those corridors. Not now—not ever! He loathed how trapped he was, unable to evade the pressing gaze. Morpheus had done enough damage, flaying him wide open repeatedly against the rock bottoms of his sordid past. A battered shipwreck crashed into a deserted moon … he stood alone harboring secrets he didn't dare let anyone glimpse.

A bead of sweat dripped down his forehead and plunked on his chest.

Holt's hand rested on his, her voice gentle, breaking over the waves of panic. “Breathe with me. Slow and steady. In and out.”

He knew the technique. It shamed him to have to be reminded of it. Mastering himself took what seemed like forever before he opened his eyes, staring at her hand on his.

Offering him a nod, she patted his hand. “Medications alter states of mind, and you are on quite the cocktail. Now, let's dispense with the self-deception about you being fine. How about we begin to release a bit of that pressure, shall we?”

Spike laid his head back against the pillow … by the exhaustion he could have run a marathon, and she wasn't letting up. It was worse than Jet scowling at him over the back of the couch when his actions caused a bounty to cost more than it was worth. Holt was determined … and Spike … had little reserves to fend her off with.

_Shiiiiit._


	24. Session 24

_ **Session 24** _

The nurse pulled the blanket back over him and smiled pleasantly even as Spike offered her nothing but a steely glare. “You see?” She cheerily picked up the tray of supplies. “We told you you'd be eating soon enough.”

He ground his teeth. “I was talking about the actual process of eating!”

“Getting more nutrition in you should give you more energy for your recovery.” She spoke right over his outburst. “You'll be feeling better in no time.”

With an awkward shift he set his casted arm over his chest and gripped it with his other in a disgruntled scowl. The pressure ultimately tugged on the surgical incision, prematurely ending his display in a wince as he let his arms rest back at his sides.

He hadn't thought that this could get worse, but it did. The now functional feeding tube through his abdomen felt awkward as it pumped a thick, supposedly nutrient rich, substance into him. To Spike it didn't look appetizing. His newly awakened gut didn't seem to know what to do anymore. Churning with hunger and roiling with nausea at the same time, ultimately achieving a new level of misery.

Taking a deep breath in an attempt to quell it, he hoped he didn't suffer the indignity of hurling his guts out. Mainly because that would hurt like hell with the muscles still healing from being cut into. Not that he was a stranger to pain, it was something—a sensation that was familiar. He vaguely wondered whether or not vomiting was even possible in his current state. The very idea sent a wave of dreaded panic through him he hoped didn't show.

“Spike?”

He turned his head on the pillow, Faye sat up in her bed with a far greater degree of movement, nearly freed from the tubular tethers. In fact they had transferred them off the bed's support to a more mobile system and she had already begun short accompanied walks. Spike silently envied the hell out of her!

Pity lingered in her eyes. “Give it a couple hours. It feels weird at first, but once you get used to it the extra calories really do help.”

His jaw clenched.  _ Damn it! I don't need your sympathy!  _

“Just … hang in there, ok?”

That pity—he couldn't stand it any longer. Turning away from her, he took another deep breath and sighed. It did little to settle the urge to puke … this wasn't like a hangover where there had been an upside to this state. It was just forced on him by a series of events he'd had no control over.

_ Wait … she knew what this was like. Did she … ? She knows because they put her through this too. _ He shut his eyes. _ I just practically spit in her face. And now that I've been a callous ass I can't even say anything else. Way to be a class act—lunkhead! _

The more he looked at the road ahead the longer the stumbling course seemed. He'd had daunting recoveries before—his eye for one. God, the nausea and splitting headaches adjusting to  ** that ** ! There'd been no easing into anything. Just waking up to a disorienting sensation like someone had smashed the side of his head with a sledgehammer. This was different, and yet ten-thousand times more embarrassing. This time, trapped in the same room, Faye witnessed his writhing twenty-four/seven.

Out of the corner of his eyes he glimpsed her sitting on the edge of her bed, bare feet dangling down inches from the floor. Her hand on the pole. She wasn't supposed to get up on her own. She wasn't strong enough yet, he'd seen her stumble.

His breathe caught as his eyebrows raised with the realization. He'd seen her stumble! And when she had he had offered her words of encouragement. The embarrassment wasn't entirely his own. They both struggled

“Faye?” He gulped in air. “I … I'm sorry I've been a lousy forced roommate.”

She leaned on her elbows and offered a crooked smile. “Like I've been any better. Come on. This situation has left us both rather … uhhh … ” she tugged on the folds of her hospital shirt, “ … exposed.”

He laughed to spite himself. _Faye talking about exposure? Now that was funny._

“I'm serious.” She gripped the edges of the shirt close to her neck. “I … I didn't realize how much I hadn't dealt with … how much was there. You know … beneath the surface?”

It wasn't his imagination, she was shivering. It wasn't cold in here. The reason was obvious just looking at her. She was reeling. Spike could empathize. The fact remained that these past days he had been unable to evade Holt's tactics. Through resilient prying she had opened up several sealed off areas of his past he wanted **no one** messing in—especially after Somnus. The wounds, now with their scabs ripped off, remained raw and festering.

“I'm such a mess.” Faye's knuckles turned white.

Reaching his left hand toward her, Spike stared at her over it. “Hey, look at me, Romani. You're not alone in this. The proof is right here in this room. We've both got a major mess behind us—” Those words hurt him much more than he imagined they would. Enough he had to close his eyes. “But we're not the mess we've left behind.”

A hand touched his.

He snapped open his eyes to find Faye collapsed in the chair beside his bed, pale and panting from overexertion. Her other hand clasped the pole holding the last few support lines for her. But she death-gripped his hand in her own, relief in her eyes at the contact.

Spike didn't withdraw, instead he laced his fingers with hers. “You're not supposed to do this.”

“Shut. Up.” She hissed, bringing their hands to touch her forehead.

“When they find you like this, they're gonna be mad at you. How are you going to get back your bed?”

“You were supposed to get out of bed before me, you lazy asshole.”

The insult bounced off him, he gave a short laugh. “Yeah, sure I'll just spring right up and we'll see how that works. You've been through these stages already. If I tried right now, as long as I have been lying down, the only trip I'd be taking is a short one—straight into the floor.”

Faye eyed him. “I'd like to see you try.”

“What's with the tactic? Are you trying to get me in trouble?”

“Just trying to find your rebellious streak.”

“Oh that.” He eyed her sideways, so that was her angle. “Yeah, that's currently hung over the proverbial toilet looking at the last thing I actually ate who knows how long ago.”

“It passes.”

“What?”

“The nausea.” She smiled and patted her side where that tube had been before. “Now, come on, I need to see you fight, Spike. It looks like … like … you've given up.”

His eyes widened. He knew he probably looked terrible, but that bad?

Her grip tightened, those jade green eyes searching his. Not pity—desperation. “Spike, I'm serious. Please. Let me see you fight this. I  _ need _ to see you fight this.”

That hit him like a sucker punch to the gut. She was frightened, … what had her greatest torture been? The cryo tube, isolation … enduring alone. There it was in her trembling grip. Her truth. The need for someone to be with her, not to leave her behind, to take the journey beside her.

Only … as he was now, Spike didn't think he could manage anything more than being a hot water bottle. He was barely functioning. The only running he could do was with his mouth, and that hadn't gotten him in good graces with the staff. What did she want him to do? Get up? The last glimpse down below the blanket revealed he had a collection of close to a dozen tubes and wires in his gut enabling him to lie in this bed with what was supposed to be some laughable level of dignity. Had this been a normal surgery procedure he'd likely already be up and moving. He wasn't a stranger to combating the atrophy that occurred from a stint in bed from injury. That part now seemed like a terrible cloud on his horizon.

Shit, this was going to be a mess trying to get up once he finally could. There would be no dignity as his limbs flailed about threatening to dump him on the floor.

“Faye. I haven't given up.” He forced a weary smile. “I just … the fight is all inside at the moment. Ok? It's all I have the energy for. I'm not sure I can show you what you need.”

To his surprise she pulled herself to her feet and leaned over him, wrapping her arms around his neck, taking care around the IV plunging into the cavity beneath his collarbone. “You just did.”

He closed his eyes, inhaling. God, they both needed a shower. But it didn't matter. They were alive. And even though he couldn't admit it—contact was something he didn't realize he'd been craving until she had taken the pains to close the gap.

_ Faye … you're stronger than you know. You don't really need me, you can stand on your own—which is better than I am doing at the moment.  _ Spike heaved a sigh. Unconsciously he lifted his left arm up and embraced her as much as he could.  _ I saw the panic in your eyes back there in Somnus's hell. I wanted to save you from that even when I couldn't save myself. That's who I am … who I really am. _

She gripped him tighter, staying in this silent comfort for an uncounted number of breaths. For weeks they had been side by side, unable to reach one another. Suddenly this meant everything in their worlds. Contact.

A startled shout broke the eye in their storm, sending a jolt through Spike as his body tensed. They both looked to the door where the nurse stood wide-eyed, pointing erratically at them. “Ms. Valentine! What are you doing up! This isn't your physical therapy session! You shouldn't be up yet! Especially on your own!”

Flustered, Faye tried to push up and stand, but the exertion had taken the wind from her. She practically crumpled backward. Fortunately, the nurse caught her. “I was just … ” she panted.  
  


“How did you get over here?” The nurse gripped her firmly, letting her catch her breath.

_Like that isn't obvious._

Now she couldn't meet his gaze, her hand toyed with the hem of her shirt. “I walked.” It looked as though she'd crumble into herself.

“More like shuffled like a mummy.” Spike prodded her.  _ Come on, fire back at me! Where's your fight, Romani? _

The heat leapt to her cheeks, she gripped the nurse's arm as she leaned toward him. “At least I  ** can ** stand up, unlike you—lazybones!”

There it was. Faye's fire.

“Ms. Valentine, you shouldn't be doing this on your own. You could fall and hurt yourself.” The nurse tried to pull her away.

Spike grinned up at her. “Haha, now look who is the source of the mischief. Takin' up my slack.” He regretted laughing, it hurt and triggered a wave of nausea forcing him to bite back a fresh urge to vomit—something he still wasn't certain he could even do at the moment. Unless that shit in the tube really was going into his actual stomach … suddenly that was an answer he didn't want to know.

“I am doing nothing of the sort!” She spat back.

“That's enough now. Come on, back to bed with you. You're not ready for all this excitement yet.” Gently the nurse eased her away in a slow shuffle back into her bed. “You both need your rest now.” She shot him a punishing glare.

Spike half hooded his eyes at the nurse.

Finished with Faye, in a flourish she rounded toward him. “You start anything and all it takes is one button. You'll wake up whenever we chose. You understand me?”

_ Threatened with a coma. Well, that was a new one. If only I had done something to deserve it. _

“The therapist will be by for your session in a few hours. I'll be certain to inform her of your newfound vigor, Mr. Spiegel.”

_ Mr. Spiegel … why so formal? And vigor, now that's laughable. _ Apparently these days he didn't need to do anything to cause trouble. He did enough merely by existing. He closed his eyes, trying to force his mind to settle into some vague from of meditation. The groaning churn deep in his gut didn't allow anything close to that.

“Spike?”

The half effective spell shattered, he sighed and opened his eyes. Faye stared at him from across the room. “What?”

“You better hurry up and get better. I don't want to leave you behind.”

He cracked a smile. “If that's your goal, you better slow down so I can catch up.”

She blinked. “Are you serious?”

“Of course not.” He shut his eyes again. “Get your ass out of here. I'll be along when I'm good and ready.”

* * *

Jet scratched the back of his neck and stretched as he clomped down the corridor still in his sleep shorts and shirt. He'd slept, but it wasn't particularly restful. Hadn't been most of this time since leaving Somnus behind. He knew what he needed, a good stiff cup of coffee. And to brew that would require the stove.

A silvery streak darted past him, nearly tripping him. He shouted through the half-dozen names, uncertain which of the Six Pack it had been as he wandered out into the living room. Ein stood at the entrance cocking his head. Paying that no mind, Jet had one thought and one thought only—coffee.

The mental gears slowly turned. Coffee pot in hand he back stepped out into the living room and his jaw hung slack. All around the room a plethora of pinwheels stuck up from every surface. Every feasible color in the spectrum. Different sizes as though this were a glade where the damn things had infested and grown with great abandon. Six assorted compy heads peered out among the colorful things.

His throat refused to make more than a strained squeal for a moment. “Ed … what did you do the ship?”

A shock of orange hair appeared over the back of the couch. Two mini pinwheels jiggled like antennae. Unabashed, Ed flicked them and set them spinning. “Aheee! Ed makes  _ Bebop _ pretty!”

He slapped his forehead. “This is a mess!” There was nowhere to sit down on. The floor was a forest of pinwheels spinning with the flow from the overhead fan. How had she managed to attach them to the deck plating? “Why did you do this?”

Thrusting her chest out, she rocked back and forth on her heels. “Faye-Faye is coming home soon. They says it outside the ouchie room. Soooo, festive homecoming!”

“Ed, she's getting better but she's still going to be a bit unsteady on her feet. You really think all these pinwheels sticking up are wise?”

“Sure.” She hadn't even paused. “Everybody loves the pinwheels. Hrm. You think Ed needs to put more out?”

He groaned, spilling the water from the half filled pot into the floor before he realized it. “you have **more**? Where are you even keeping them?”

She put a finger to her lips and winked. “Shhh, it's Ed's secret.”


	25. Session 25

_ **Session 25** _

They had said there would be big changes, but even still, Spike hadn't expected _this_. Luckily there had been no need for him to leave his bed for this little trip, that was impossible anyway. Glancing at the top of his arm cast he noted rather grimly there was a wider gap, proof of the muscles steadily atrophying from lack of use. Even without a obvious visible gauge elsewhere he knew the wasting effects encompassed his whole being. Walking again wasn't even in his dreams. He seethed in silent annoyance. Day by day he had watched as they'd freed her from all the wires and tubes celebrating each achievement. They'd been doing to same for him, it was just that those moments were fewer, farther between. If this was a race Spike would have been able to look over his shoulder the starting line still well in view. Through Faye's diligent physical therapy sessions she had regained enough strength in the following days that they released her.

She had beat Spike to the goal by an extremely large lead. Hours after she walked out, accompanied by Jet and Ed, the staff had moved Spike to another room. A private room, now that the group one they had all started in was no longer needed. If he'd remained there it would have been incredible waste.

Now he was alone … the last straggler left struggling to recover. At least the sepsis had largely run its course and he was down to a regular IV in his arm. However, the damn feeding tube was still a necessity as fighting off the infection had stolen far more resources than he'd had, but he'd gotten used to the process … “She'd been right.”

“By 'she' I suspect you mean Faye?”

Spike glanced to the figure seated by his bed.

Holt leaned back in the chair, templing her fingers over one knee. “I figured you would speak eventually today if I waited long enough. It's interesting, as independent as you make yourself out to be over the days precluding the departing of your last shipmate, you've sunk down further into depression the closer she same to release.”

“I am **not** depressed,” he grumbled.

“Just keep telling yourself that. All it would take is a mirror to prove you wrong.” She leaned forward. “It's ok, Spike. Frankly it's entirely reasonable you would be, given what has happened. As is obvious by the teasing words of your friends as well as your own remarks, you are accustomed to being able to push through things. This,” she gestured to his prone position, “can't be pushed no matter how much you might try. You are at the mercy of your current limitations.”

He huffed a breath, the thread of conversation cutting into him. What did she want him to do? Admit she was right? What good would that do? If only Faye were still here engaging in the back and forth shit-talk that had bolstered their wills to fight. Even if it wasn't a traditional physical fight, it was something, fuel for the fire that dwindled now with no one left to stoke it.

What did he want now? Certainly not to have the others here staring at him with pity in their eyes, waiting for him to catch up. His jaw tightened. They had lives, they shouldn't be wasting all their time sitting in here with him. They deserved more—they had lives … even if … he squeezed his eyes tight trying to bury the thought. Turning away from Holt, he stared out the window at the ships soaring through the bright blue sky, the buildings of Alba city rising toward the clouds. People were out there, living … the thought broke through his defenses.

_And here I am … once more just existing. Fuck._

“Spike, what's going on inside your head?”

_What do you care? What does anyone care? Why does it even matter? I just want to fast forward, to be able to **stand** up, to **walk** out of here, to be able to actually **eat** … to go— **home**._ He closed his eyes. “Just thinking … ”

“About?”

His hand rubbed the cast idly. It didn't hurt, but it itched miserably. A sign it was healing, slowly. X-rays had shown a marked delay, not a shock considering his prior condition. The body prioritized critical areas first—and that bout of sepsis had certainly been a worthy threat to his life. This broken bone had been the least of his body's concerns. Once more his mind was trying to distract itself, and once more the tactic failed. Not just because Holt sat here mentally poking him in certain directions. His mind already was prone to peering into those dark corners ever since Somnus. It was like stumbling on some old ruins of a building he once knew and trying to resist the urge to dig to see what still remained.

Unbidden he muttered, “How many times can someone die before there's nothing left to come back?”

Her eyes widened briefly. That was new, he'd never managed to catch her off guard before. “That's … hrm … I am of course assuming you don't mean physical death, but more in a figurative sense.”

Spike shook his head, reeling from the tornado of thoughts encircling the plaguing concept. He'd never felt quite this unsteady in his own head before. “I honestly don't know what I mean. Let's just drop it.”

“No. There is a reason you said that. Especially you, Spike. We really need to explore this.”

Uncomfortable, he squirmed a bit, as much as his weak ass body could. Any motion shifted things, tugged on the attachments helping to keep him comfortable, like that was even a state he could achieve at the moment. All this poking and prodding, bandage changes, unable to do anything for himself made him a spark of irritability. Right now he was dry tinder ready to go as Holt recklessly waved a blowtorch around.

“I don't want to.” That sounded like a little child whining. All he could muster at this point.

She sighed, reaching out a hand and resting it on the edge of the bed. “Is that the truth? Or do you need to and just don't have the words? This is difficult terrain to walk. There is no shame in admitting that.”

_But there is a terrible shame in barely being able to exist. To lie here tattered and struggling to find the reserves to put myself back together again. I'm so damn weak! Failure … I had the ability to manipulate that freak's worlds, and yet even with that I'd been unable to protect them. I had been incapable of stepping up to that line—fighting is all I was ever good at. Now, lying here it isn't like before when it was just a matter of time, an inconvenience. This time my protective facade is shattered, reflecting the bitter truth. Right from the beginning my life had been a dreadful lie. I was never what I showed the world._

Something warm landed on his hand. Spike glanced down. A drop of water? A strange sensation dragged against his left cheek. He reached up, it was damp. His vision half blurred in the onslaught. Only his real eye could do this. The fake one long since incapable of producing tears. _God, I'm a mess!_

Holt offered me a tissue. “That was a long time coming.”

“Shut up.” There was no force behind that. Was this supposed to make him feel better? Sobbing like a snot-nosed child? He had to reach up, wiping away the mess dripping from his nose. Pathetic.

“This is a critical step, and by no means an easy one. But, now that you have done it we can begin to—”

A knock on the door interrupted Holt. She cursed softly. “What is it?”

A nurse opened the door. “Sorry to interrupt you, but that officer who got shocked in the Mendel Crater response, yeah—he's awake and in the middle of a rather severe breakdown. We really need you to come talk to him right now before he hurts himself.”

She sighed. “My work is never done. Be right there.” Rising to her feet she rested a hand on Spike's shoulder. “Honestly, I think you need a few minutes anyway. We won't cut today's session short. I'll come back when I finish. Okay?”

Raw, everything was raw, like a jagged wound bleeding out. But a wound could be staunched. This … how could anyone stop this? The tears kept flowing, long after the door closed leaving him some privacy.

“At least Faye wasn't here to see this.” A bitter laugh escaped him … it was hollow, devoid of any humor. What was happening to him? Even as Holt left he wished she hadn't, a sudden urge to talk, to open up because … he didn't know how to begin to stop the avalanche.

* * *

Faye leaned against Jet's shoulder taking the wobbly steps toward the hatch. The _Bebop_. She was onboard her smoothly rolling decks again, inhaling the marginally filtered air that stank of a stale indescribable odor as the door rolled back. Wearily, she smiled.

Home!

Ed executed a handspring though the door cheering and spinning. “Welcome welcome! _Bebop-Bebop_ is almost complete again! Just one more! Just one more!”

It felt wonderful, even if she was coming close to the end of her endurance. Her muscles ached and begged for a rest. Almost there, just the threshold and some stairs. If Jet hadn't been helping her there was no way she would have made it even this far. How laughable it all seemed back at the hospital. Like a champion she had lorded over the bed-ridden Spike her ability to walk across the room unaided, basking in his acidic remarks. But now, after such a short exertion her legs threatened to deliver a karmic bitch-slap. At least he wasn't here to see her legs shuddering.

Entering the platform above the living room her eyes widened. She had been expecting the utilitarian palette. What met her eyes was the edges of the room lined with brightly colored pinwheels in all shades imaginable. Ed's fingers set them all spinning as she dashed around and around, Ein barking on her bare heels. “Weeeee! Hahahaha! So pretty!”

Jet patted Faye's hand on his shoulder. “It was a compromise. She'd had a lot more of them out. Between her and the Six Pack I made them trim it back to reasonable.”

“ **This** is reasonable?” She couldn't even count them.

“Just smile for her, she put a lot of effort into it.” He gave a weary sigh.

Faye exhaled a breath, trying to summon up the energy to make it down the stairs. She forced a smile as Ed danced on the balls of her feet. “It's so colorful, Ed … I don't think this room has ever looked so nice.”

“Ed is the new head of decorations and entertainment for the _Bebop._ ”

Jet stiffened, “Who said that?”

“Ed did. Cause Ed is good at the pretties.” She blew on a rainbow colored pinwheel.

The Six Pack scampered out into the room and chirruped a greeting as they stood on the table in a sloppy line-up. They were a sight for her, even as pesky as the little mechanical beasts were. The color code from her own nail polishes identified them. They all had names given to them by Ed, but for some reason those never managed to sink into her mind. The only thing she knew for certain was the red marked one had a temper, tending to bite and scratch. A strange concept—machines having personalities. But these little things did, in spades!

“You doing ok?” Jet glanced at her.

“Yeah, I'm just a bit worn out.” Her head bowed a bit. It was nice to be back in her own clothes again. Though the bruises and pock marks from the tubes still showed against her skin. That would fade. And what didn't, she could have the scars removed. Scars … removal. A shiver ran through her at the thought of that massive surgical scar beneath his bandages. That was going to be a piece of work!

Bone sore and weary, she sighed, “Hey, I'm afraid I'm about to become the new Spike, I think I need a long nap.” Oh how she had teased him for being a couch potato, but she was beginning to understand Spike's approach, given how active he usually was when trouble arose. Like some form of energy conservation.

Jet chuckled. “Let's get you installed on the couch, then.”

“Thanks. I'm … I'm sorry.”

He paused on the steps, furrowing his brow. “What was that?”

“I'm sorry.” She repeated. “For being so useless at the moment.”

Laughing softly, Jet eased her the rest of the way down and onto the couch. He locked eyes with her. “I've put up with that stubborn ass Spike for years, what makes you think I wouldn't with you? You're family.”

She reached up and hugged him close, breathing in his scent: motor oil, tobacco, and whiskey. It should have been nauseating, like when she first arrived on this rust bucket years ago. But it wasn't. It was … comforting.

Home … she was _finally_ home.

* * *

Holt opened the door and wiped her brow. “I apologize for that previous interruption. But the nurse was quite correct. That poor man really needed to get something out of his system.”

Spike shifted his gaze from watching the world go by. All this long hour he had been wallowing in despair … depression. Yeah, he had to admit it, the shrink was right. Though he wouldn't say it aloud. Normally he would have been pouring himself a straight shot of whiskey and savored it while smoking like a chimney until the emotions drowned themselves. But no matter how much he'd demanded something to drink, they denied him that. Nothing by mouth until that damn feeding tube came out. No matter how many times he pointed out that he wasn't on oxygen they wouldn't let him light a cigarette. He didn't even know where his were at the moment.

Standing beside his bed, Holt smiled. “Now, where were we before I was pulled away?” She produced a coin out of her pocket.

_Tink._ The coin flipped up into the air, tumbling up and down in a pattern as it caught the light.

_Tink_ … again. Light, dark, light, dark …

_Tink_ … Spike's eyes were drawn to the only motion in the room, watching it ride up and down repeatedly.

A fog invaded his vision, at the edges Holt's soft smile as she spoke, but the words didn't reach him. Just the tumble of the coin, rhythmic, predictable … his eyelids grew heavy, breathing slower. His chin gradually rested against his chest.

Holt's voice echoed in his ears a moment before the slits of light vanished, closing him off from the world. “No more playing around, Spike. Time to open you up.”


	26. Session 26

Spike opened his eyes, slowly. This was weird … he was chest down on the floor. A barren floor, well … more or less. It was concrete and some chunks of it heaved up like ice breaking on a frozen lake. He wasn't cold, so it wasn't something like that. Everything was dark, a bit like being out in the middle of nowhere on a starless night. 

As if the entire world had buried the sunlight leaving behind a nearly featureless void. 

Pushing up, he grunted as he tucked his knees beneath him. Where the hell was this?

Wait … he blinked down at his right hand pressed against the floor. Where was the cast? His arm was broken and still healing … wasn't it? Not only that, but … he tugged his suit jacket up untucking the shirt with it. He ran his hand over the skin—no tubes or wires, whole, unscarred. 

No ghastly surgical scar!

“What the fu—?” Slowly he stood up, shocked to find that wasn't a challenge at all. In fact, he took a few steps and started to smile. So much for walking not even being in his dreams. It was amazing to be ambulatory again. And without all the painstaking work to get there.

With his arms above his head he stretched, cracking the joints, though they seemed to not even require that.

He felt … wonderful. Whole and fit again.

A peel of laughter echoed off unseen walls.

Spike froze. He knew that laugh!

“Pardon the intrusion.” 

He knew that icy voice! Slowly turning around he scrambled to conceal the shock as the figure stood mere feet from him, grinning ear to ear. Spike's fists snapped tight as his lip curled. “Morpheus!”

That very man, if a monster could be called that, spread his hands and executed a half-bow while keeping his eyes locked on Spike. Mischief filled them to the brim.

No … this couldn't be real. Spike took a step backward, halfway relaxing his guard. With his right hand he rubbed eyes trying to wipe the image away. Of course it remained. “This can't be real. It's just a dream is all. Yeah. Just a stupid nightmare.”

Morpheus's smile intensified. “You wish. But I can assure you, that's not the reality.”

“Heh, like I would trust anything  ** you ** say. Which are you: Phobos or Deimos? Tch! Probably neither. Probably just a bad batch of that sludge they're pumpin' into me. Can't wait to get rid of that damn tube for real, finally get a chance to taste things again.” It dawned on him. “Oh hey, if this is a dream … ” he snapped his fingers and a pack of cigarettes with a lighter appeared, “Oooooohhhh yeah. Now this is what I'm talking about.”

Pulling one out he lit it, savoring the sensation as he held the smoke in his lungs before breathing it out in relief. “Damn I missed this shit. I could stay here for a while, easy enough.”

“You think so?” Morpheus's footsteps echoed as he casually began to walk, keeping his distance. Spike noted it was just out of striking range. Nonplussed, Morpheus continued. “What a nice sentiment that you enjoy what I have done to you.”

He made a rude noise, and threw him a half-lidded glare. “You haven't done shit. We left your ass behind in your little broken down playground of demented dreams. No one's getting caught there anymore.”

For a moment, Morpheus flinched before mastering himself, evening out his slow steps. Visibly he forced his brow to smooth out. “Half right.”

“Look, I already know I'm not still stuck in your bullshit pit of horrors anymore. So figment, you can cut the crap.”

“Oh, we're not in Somnus any longer.” He came to a halt, hands clasped behind his back. “We're in  _ your _ head, Spike.”

For a second a white hot poker of terror stabbed Spike's heart. Then. He forced himself to laugh. “Yeah, right. Nice try. Like I said, your world is gone, buddy. And your measly ass with it. The only thing you are king of is losers!”

“Somnus, to my deep regret, is gone. But that is all you pack of ingrates managed to destroy.” His eyes focused like lasers. “I have my ways. And I assure you,  _ this _ time you will not evade me.”

If Spike  _ was _ in his own head, dreaming, that meant he could summon whatever he wanted. That meant not only smokes, but … he snapped his fingers and in the palm of his hand a heavy glass with two fingers of whiskey neat appeared. He laughed and took a deep burning gulp, savoring it. “Oh yeah … just what the doctor ordered!”

Morpheus shook his head. “How incredibly sad. Even after destroying part of your body you still chase your death.”

“Shut up.” He barked, swirling the glass. “Why don't you get out of here, has-been. I'm done with you.”

“That may be … but—I am hardly finished with you.” 

Tink!

Spike froze in the midst of raising the glass. His eyes glanced off to the side. A poker chip, red, with a scuffed gold-foiled crown on one side. It tumbled through the air landing in Morpheus's hand. His smile was positively vile. 

“Do you know what your subconscious looked like when you first entered Somnus?” He waited for a long moment. The reality was Spike didn't want to even consider that—given the day, given what he had been doing. “You were slumped in the cellar of your great bastion.” He locked eyes with Spike. “Tell me, what does one store in the cellar?”

That stare was unnerving. Slowly, Spike realized it wasn't directed at him—but at the glass in his hand. His fingers released it. The glass shattered against the floor as Spike stood there stock still.

“Ah, we're on the same wavelength now.”

_ Get out! Getoutgetoutgetout! _ Spike staggered back a step. “Tsh!”

“All your defenses. You—you were thorough when you built up your walls. The tactics I found only in the vilest of hearts shielding themselves from the truth of their nature. I wonder, do you even  _ have _ a heart? Anyway … such a perfect place for you to be, drowning yourself in liquor. You almost handed me the keys to the whole damn place. I nearly succeeded in overcoming you, until you rallied and started fighting back.”

“No. It's not true. I'm not—”

“Oh, but it is. Of course I had a hell of a time reaching you, despite your … coping mechanism. After all, you had built such a marvelous bastion around you. Several actually, one inside the next.” He tapped a finger to his chin. “You know what it reminded me of? Those little nesting dolls where the space gets smaller and smaller until in the very center out pops a delicate one, impossibly fragile. The precious treasure within. It must get awfully cramped in there. You had the most layered defense I have ever seen. But it was no matter, really.” 

Morpheus snapped his fingers and the world sprang into light. Not that it changed the darkness. But it illuminated the rubble strewn across the floor. Great pieces of shattered stone in shapeless piles. He chuckled. “All it took was effort and I broke through them one at a time. Well most of them. And here we are. At the very—last—one.”

Spike swallowed, the cigarette falling from his lower lip as he stared at the cylinder of stone directly behind Morpheus.

“How utterly precious. Your final line of defense against the world's harsh judgment.”

Tightening his fist, Spike glared at him. “That's what you think!” He charged and pelted Morpheus with a barrage of blows. 

Unsettled, Morpheus scrambled out of the way hastily and off balance. He snapped his fingers and a katana appeared in his hands, a familiar one.

For a split second the mere song of the steel in the air was it's own blow against Spike. He blinked hard, holding back a hit as a tidal wave of memories slammed into him. But the hand that held that sword wasn't Vicious. “To hell with you!” He drove forward, kicking Morpheus's hand and in the full rotation catching the airborne sword as it came down. Now Spike had it, and now he stood between Morpheus and the wall, pointing the blade at his neck. “You keep fucking up and arming me!”

“Arming you? On the contrary. I  _ wanted _ you to hold that.” Through a confident glare Morpheus opened his palm again and a red poker chip appeared. “Which one are you now?”

“Fuck you!” Spike snarled, his hand gripping the hilt shook violently! “I have  ** never ** been that cold hearted bastard!”

The chip landed in his palm, crown up. Morpheus smiled wickedly. “Weren't you? What about when  ** this ** turned up?”

In slow motion the glint off that crown was like a slap to his face, his ears rang as he stepped backward. The sword in his hands … blood … blood everywhere. Spike reeled as the memories flooded back, nearly taking him to his knees. The tip of the katana shrieked as it struck the floor. All those decisions made by a piece of plastic, gambling with real lives … his way or Vicious's way. That had been the iron-clad agreement. 

_ Vicious—no! Shit! I am not … no! _

The faces of the victims swarmed around him. A countless mob pressing him back against the wall. But each of them … he knew! He recalled the way they had met their end—by his own hands.

“Gah! No! Get back! All of you!” He slashed the sword, cleaving them, mowing them down, the ground grew slick beneath his feet. But still they came—crying for his blood! “I didn't have a choice! It was my duty! I was protecting the syndicate!”

“Protecting. Heh heh. All those victims … tell me, were you valiant? Not in their eyes.” Morpheus casually spread his hands, in front of Spike in the path of the sword they appeared—Jet, Faye, and Ed. 

“NOOO!” Throwing his weight backward to abort the swing, Spike was just barely able to spare them the full bite of the blade, only a glancing slice as he released the hilt, letting the weapon clatter as it slid across the floor. He staggered back, blood slick palms against the cold stone of his last bastion. The red blossom bloomed on his crew mates as they clung to one another in shock. “No … I didn't mean to … it wasn't me … ” Spike dug his fingers in his hair.

“Funny, I haven't laid a hand on you. Not even a single wound—but look at you. Pathetic.” Morpheus parted the mob and smiled wickedly. “You and those friends of yours destroyed my kingdom.”

“Jet killed you.” Spike panted. “I saw him kill you!”

“You fail to comprehend. I was already dead. My body has been quite dead for two decades now.” He stalked forward. “Since the destruction of my kingdom I have lingered in the dark corners of the mind of a quadriplegic man who fried his nervous system touching one of the research robots, the means of my connection with this dimension. I lurked in his mind waiting to overhear word of what happened to the only victims who managed to escape my grasp. Before you, only one pesky piece of shit managed to get out. But he never made it out of the building. He simply died outside of my kingdom's hold. So I lost control over him. Which admittedly infuriated me. I vowed when Jack Rackham escaped me that none would ever do so again.” He flashed Spike a menacing glare. “And then,  ** you ** came! I thought you would be so easy. So love-sick and heartbroken, so much material to work with. You should have just crumbled into my hands. But not you, no. You had to be sacrificial, driven to stand between me and your comrades. Resilient, tough as nails, and ooooh the defenses I had failed to see! The real you was buried too deep. It took time—but I found where you are hiding. I know all the sins you conceal.” 

Spike reached back and touched the wall. He shuddered, Morpheus wasn't joking. He could feel it, sense it like a second skin. This was truly it. The final barrier shielding him … all this rubble, all the walls torn down—no wonder he was so damn raw. Sensei had taught him about this, the insulation, wall it away where it cannot affect you—it was like a sword thrust through the heart.  _ Sensei! _

“I am determined,” Morpheus set the chip tumbling in the air, “since I can no longer claim you as my subject—I will utterly break you!”

“And I have had enough of being controlled!” Staggering forward, Spike grabbed the hilt of the katana and brandishing it. The metal gleamed with beads of blood. Blades had never been his thing, but it didn't mean he hadn't been taught to handle them. “Get out!” He growled. “Get out of my head!”

Morpheus's outline was flickering. Proof he wasn't the all powerful one here either. Spike had the advantage. This was still his turf, and he would defend it. Spike focused hard on forcing him out. 

Morpheus laughed taunting him with an open palm. “Your grip is slipping, that last wall won't hold forever. I am nothing if not patient. And you, well … your body is held quite captive at the moment. I know  _ precisely _ where to find you.”

“I'll tell them!” Spike slashed the air as Morpheus darted back.

He tutted, and smiled. “That will be terribly difficult—if you don't remember in the waking world. Hahahaha!”

“Die again you bastard!” He drove forward, thrusting with the blade … 

Spike opened his eyes to the tink of the coin. The hum of the pump, and the pesky vibration as it forced a food-like substance into his gut. He reached up and rubbed his eyes, trailing the IV in his arm along with it. Everything felt out of place for a moment. “Wha' … what happened?”

In the chair beside him, Holt tucked a coin into her pocket and placed her palms together. “I think we've gone as far as we can with therapy for today. You look worn out, Spike. Why don't you get some rest. We'll have another session tomorrow and see if we can't delve a bit further.”

He furrowed his brow. “We were … talking?”

“Yes. Don't worry. Just use that meditation I taught you today and soon you'll be right as rain.” She stood and walked out of the room, shutting the door behind her. 

_ Meditation? Had we been … but this doesn't feel like … what's going on? _

Spike stared at his hands, straining to recall anything … the last thing he remembered was complaining to the nurse changing his bandage. Time was missing. Sliding his eyes up to the IV stand attached to his bed he wondered, not for the first time … what drugs were they pumping into him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jack "Colt" Rackham is the main character in Luck_Kazajian's "End of Watch 9/3/2073", a fic spawned from this story from the idea of wanting to see a detective caught in Morpheus's trap. Go read about how he messes with Morphy!


	27. Session 27

Jet stared at the doctor, he had to pinch the bridge if his nose trying to swallow what he had just been told. He glanced through the window of Spike's door he had stepped out into the hall mid-visit for a private chat. Inside the girls animatedly chatted about the last few days, Jet assumed it was their  _ big fish _ story from the other day. Ed had gone overboard when a large unidentified fish swam off with her bait. Luckily Faye had heard her and taken the Red Tail to her rescue. The missile might have been a bit overkill … but … at least that part was going well. He shifted his gaze to Spike … he looked … worse. Over the course of the days since Faye had come back to ship she had regained her vigor while Spike …

“ ... He's failing to thrive.” The doctor shook his head. “I can't explain it. We'd hoped by now we could remove the feeding tube, get him eating again. But his progress just halted in the tracks.”

Spike was awake, watching the others pantomime Ed falling overboard and flailing, but his eyes … they were distant. Dark circles beneath them. He was gaunter as if something were eating him from the inside. According to the doctor he wasn't even trying to lift his head anymore. Jet himself had witnessed it, no matter what he or Faye did they could barely illicit a response from. Usually by this phase in healing Spike was surly and required reminders of what he shouldn't be trying to do. 

Jet's heart sunk. The man who lay in that bed … bore no real expression. Before he had at least smirked.

“There has to be something … ” Jet grasped at straws, “ … maybe it's the fact that the tube is still in and he hates it so much. He needs to eat real food.”

The doctor shook his head. “He's not strong enough for that, especially now. As it is, we're struggling to get enough into him. He's barely healing now. If we took the tube out … ” His shoulders drooped. 

_ Spike? Not strong enough? This isn't happening!  _ “Tell me there's some indication what's wrong.” Jet folded his arms. 

“I'm afraid not. We've looked through all the results from the bio-scans and he should be progressing. For some unknown reason we've hit an impasse.”

“Shit.” He exhaled through his nose. 

“I was hoping you might know of something that could lift his spirits.”

“I know of a couple things,” Jet smirked at the thought of bringing in a case of cigarettes and a bottle of whiskey with a big ass red bow, “ … neither of which you would permit.”

“Well, keep stopping by. Maybe this is a just a phase. Patients have been known to hit plateaus. I'm sorry, I wish the news had been better.”

Without waiting for the doctor, Jet pushed open the door and slid in just as Faye spread her hands in the air. “Fwooooosh! Kabooooom!”

Ed cheered, “Fishy guts everywhere! Weeeeee.”

Spike's eyes barely tracked the motion between prolonged blinks. There should have been a fiery spirit dwelling in there, even when he was being lazy as hell … but that spark seemed to be missing. 

Swallowing his concern, Jet plastered a grin on his face and came up beside the girls, laughing. “And you can bet who cleaned all that up.”

Ed pointed. “Jet did.”

A bit of heat sprang to his face. “Well, yeah … I would have had Faye do it, but she rather vanished. As usual!”

“You didn't do it alone. Ein helped.” She stared at her nails. “Sushi. I swear that little dog never ate so good.”

Spike's gaze wandered away, drifting toward the window.

Flinching, Jet realized the mistake too late—and by her rapid inhale he suspected Faye did too as she stuttered, “Well, I mean he's the only one. The rest of us didn't. Cause the flight deck isn't part of the five-second rule and all that … it's ...”

Jet waved a hand to silence her.

“It's ok. Don't worry about it,” Spike muttered.

“The point was,” he stepped closer trying to catch Spike's attention, “it was a huge stinky mess.”

“Sounds like it.” Not even a flicker of a smile.

Why had he gotten weaker? Why was he so damn bleak? Was he just homesick?

“Hey, pard, you need anything? I mean is there anything I can bring that would help?”

Spike took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It seemed like he wasn't going to respond. “ … chip … ”

“Hmm?” Jet wasn't the only one to cock an eyebrow. Both Faye and Ed stared rudely. “Chip?”

It was a subtle motion, but Spike's fingers shifted in a strange pattern, preoccupied as if turning something small, over and over and over again. An obsessive motion.

Faye grasped Jet's wrist, her eyes trembled for a moment. “Do you mean … the poker chip?”

He didn't look away from the window. Just a slow nod in response. 

_ The poker chip? _ Jet stiffened. It was a strange request, but he knew something about the token item from Spike's past. He had even witnessed it come back into play when Bob had asked Spike to go undercover for that Red-eye sting. Why had the chip been so important to him? What had he done with it? “Doing some gambling with the nurses, Spike-o?” He tried to keep his tone light.

Again the gesture was minimal, just the faintest shake of his head. 

“Uhhh, then why do you want a single poker chip?”

It was a flicker, a furrowing of his brow. Slowly he turned and met Jet's eyes, at last something swirled there. Confusion? “I don't … I don't know … but it's important … I need it … for some reason.”

“Heh, ok, pard, if you insist. I'll see if I can find one—”

“Red.” He half-closed his eyes, the shadows haunting his eyes deepened. “It needs to be red.”

That was weird. He rubbed the back of his neck. “You sure that's all you want?”

He nodded. “ _ Need. _ ”

A knock at the door grabbed Jet's attention. Faye turned as well and smiled at the woman in the doorway. “Holt! Great to see you again.”

Holt locked eyes with all of them and smiled. “Ahh yes, good to see you all here. If you will excuse the intrusion, sorry I have to cut your visit short. Spike and I have a session.” She held the door open, gesturing.

“Buh-bye Spike-person!” Ed spun the pinwheel on the end of his bed as she left.

Faye waved at him with a forced smile. “We'll come back again tomorrow, lunkhead. Ok?”

Lingering in the doorway, Jet leaned closer to Holt. “Hey, I don't know what's up with him, but … he's usually not quite  _ this  _ withdrawn. Can you, … can you bring him out of this funk?”

Holt set a hand on his and met his worried gaze. “These things take time. I'm working as hard as I can to open him up. We're covering some very traumatic ground here. So it's understandable that he's going through a rough patch. But don't fret. Your friend is in capable hands.”

She guided Jet out the door and closed it. The latch clicked with a finality that set Jet's heart aching. He wanted to be in there, to help Spike rally again. To see him step up to the line. Somehow this felt like a betrayal as he turned away.

A few doors down Faye lingered, grabbing her elbow with her hand. “Jet?” She cast a worried glance at the shut door. “He looks terrible. Did you get anything out of the doctor?”

Shoving his hands in his pockets, he cast his eyes down. “I wish it was good news. Come on, I'll fill you in back at the ship. We need to find something to occupy Ed. I don't want her to hear this.”

* * *

The door latch clicked. Soundproof. Holt smiled as she turned toward the patient held captive in the bed. Spike languished over the past few days under his new treatment regiment—more effective than had been hoped for. Repetition raked away at his resolve one daily session at a time. 

Certainly Spike never recalled it in the waking world … but … Holt pulled out the coin and flicked it into air.

Instantly Spike's glazed eyes fixated on it. Taking less time than before it savagely yanked him down.  _ Time to go to work.  _ Holt closed her eyes …

Morpheus opened his, staring down the barrel of his gun. He had a split second to dodge the shot. “Oh, come now. This is the greeting I get?”

“Sick twisted bastard!” Spike snarled and landed a kick into his gut.

It was rare he made contact. But a wild animal gained an advantage, especially when cornered.

These repeated delves were chipping away. Spike's legendary strength was fading. Already, just after entering this plain of consciousness he was panting, muscles stretched taut. That was not how this began. Spike had been fluid, devastating, precise in his blows. Now he lashed out in barely concealed desperation! His back pressed against the bastion not allowing Morpheus to gain any ground.

That was the frustrating thing. Though he was wearing down—this part was taking longer than planned, risking getting caught. Damn his resilience! Unlike that paralyzed fool, unlike the unsuspecting shrink he inhabited now—Morpheus couldn't gain a permanent hold in Spike's mind. He kept getting unceremoniously kicked out. At least Holt was ridiculously easy to cram back into the recesses of the mind. She posed no threat to him.

Ohhh, did Morpheus know what was going on in here. The experiments of Somnus came back to him. Back when he was Lysander Selinofoto, men and women, service members  _ volunteered  _ for the Morpheus project. If the subjects were compliant the infiltrating psyche could slip right in and shove them aside, just like the good doctor here. However, if they resisted—oh, it was amazing to watch the battle of wills! Like a mental cock fight complete with spurs. Devastation in the wake.

Of course the intention of the project was to hijack the minds of the enemy with those of trained soldiers so they would to be able walk the body right into enemy territory with no one being the wiser. The ultimate covert spy! Hundreds died of the insanity in the early runs, fighting tooth and nail in a mental knock-out war. Losses were inevitable. Failure was part of science. But tell the officials up in the offices and they'd get squeamish! They never understood the path to greatness.

The Morpheus project had seen some real hard-ass subjects, but the project had been shut down before the kinks got worked out. That's what made this equal parts intriguing and frustrating. Spike was a stubborn SOB. Just like his God-damned parents. Their research would have made the whole damn process so simple. An injection of the compound and it would have eased the formation of the neural pathways, making the control that much smoother—even on someone as resilient as Spike! But  ** no ** —they had to take their research and run! They had to get murdered by defying the Red Dragons before Lysander's contacts tracked them down in Deseado! All of it—gone! And not even their brat for a test subject.

Staring at him now, Morpheus admired the man he had become. He would have made one hell of an infiltrator! Cold, ruthless, a pit of depravity. 

It was a shame to break him.

“Are you ready for today's session?”

Spike rammed a full mag into his Jericho and huffed a breath. “You're not going to win, you sicko!”

“Sicko?” Morpheus laughed low tugging on the cuffs of his robe. “You're not exactly one to talk. I'm not the one tethered to a biobed, what was the term they wrote on your chart? Oh yes,  _ failing to thrive. _ Hehe. I wonder why that is? What could possibly be stealing all your energy?”

He curled a lip. “I may not recall it out there. But you can't fool me here! You're not going to win.”

“Speaking of which, shall we commence with the festivities?” Clapping his hands over his head, Morpheus spread them at his sides like a ringmaster in a circus. All around the mob reformed. The same one Spike had taken out every single day since Morpheus started this. Mao, Annie, Julia, Lin, Shin … Joe … Jet, Faye, Ed … Spike's parents … Sensei, … the victims of his ordered hits … Vicious stood at the forefront of it all and drew his katana with a song of steel. Morpheus declared, “It's all about odds. Every time you kill them; the ones you loved, the ones you trusted, the ones who betrayed you and the syndicate; it chips away at your final defense. One of these days, they will break through. And then … oh I can't wait for then!”

Spike glared hard at Morpheus, leveling the gun right at his head. As usual, the figures swarmed the path preparing the conga-line of doom. “Ok. 3, 2, 1—let's jam!” 


	28. Session 28

_ **Session 28** _

“Face it, Spike … the one who killed Julia—was you.” Vicious straddled over Spike, the tip of the katana piercing his shoulder.

Drenched in the mire of the slaughter he had commenced so many times before, Spike gasped each breath, his back literally pinned to the wall by the blade wedged into the stone. It took everything he had to keep the gun pressed up against it at an odd angle—the only thing preventing the blade from going all the way through. The iron taste of blood filled his mouth, he bit his tongue to hold back his anguished scream. Not just from the keen edge of the weapon, but from the cold hiss of those words released into this blood soaked void.

“Look at her.” Vicious pointed back at the figure lying in a twisted fog-eyed heap. Between her eyes a bullet had punched a bloody hole. “She'd had a life before your foolish dream put her in the path of danger. And not just her. The  _ many _ lives you recklessly shoved off the rails. You called me the traitor. But I remained true to the Dragon. I never turned my back on the syndicate. I made it stronger. It was you who fled like a wounded animal. You who abandoned everyone who believed in you all for a selfish domestic dream.” His eyes narrowed and flickered toward Mao's bloody corpse. “Gaze upon the devastation you left in your wake. This is all your fault for breaking your blood bond.”

Grunting, Spike tried to brace his slipping feet against the punch of the katana, but Vicious only turned it, spreading the wound. Throwing his head back the wail escaped Spike. It only fueled his rage. “Liar! You broke it first! You never took it serious in the first place! This is not solely my burden. The real animal is you, Vicious. Mao made the mistake in believing you could be saved!”

“Heh, and you never corrected him.”

A sickening twist in Spike's gut closed his eyes.

“You knew me better than anyone. You knew the lengths that I would go to, the heights that I would strive—”

“You mean—the depths you would stoop!” Spike snarled.

“But you abandoned your post. You chose to abandon those who raised you to seek companionship. Fool! That is a luxury devils like us can never have. You have  ** always ** been alone—it's who you and I are!”

Breathing against the rub of the piercing blade sawed away at raw flesh. Spike trembled, his grip on the gun faltering. If he turned his hand to line up the shot, nothing would stop the blade from punching through the stone. Only the tip had reached. He grunted, holding fast. “You're one to talk … how many comrades did you sacrifice for your futile end? You cut your way to the top—for one fuckin' day!”

“If you had stayed  _ none _ of this would have happened. We would have risen to the power that was owed us. As it was supposed to be, we would have seized the reins of succession by right of power.” Vicious grinned. “But, you—you lost your edge. When we first met you brought something to the dojo that none of the rest of those cowards did. You were resilient. Never backed down, you kept on your target with no mercy. You were a blood thirsty bastard. That was until you turned your back and ran for the first time in your life. Never thought I would live to see the day. Our comrades? What were we ever but blood sacrifices to the insatiable Red Dragon? Every last one of us. You forgot what you were. And that, Spike, is the root of  _ your _ delusion.  _ Your _ betrayal to Mao.”

“You're a sick fuck! You're the one who slaughtered Mao!”

“And you were the one who was supposed to balance my blade. I slit his throat to strengthen the Red Dragon.” He leaned closer, mad eyes widening. “I didn't run off like some greedy disobedient child who'd been told  ** no ** .”

“The one who needed to accept  ** no ** was you!” 

Vicious laughed shifting his eyes around Spike's mass slaughter. “All your victims, shall I name them all for you? The worst of them … Kade.”

Spike flinched at the name. “He wasn't a Dragon.”

“Oh no, but he should have been if your recklessness hadn't cost him his life!”

“I paid the price for what I did! I didn't kill him!”

“Not directly, no.” Vicious's smile intensified. “But who was the one behind the wheel? Don't deny it, I was there.”

Which hurt worse? The katana or the blade of those memories? He gritted his teeth. “I seem to remember you reveling in my punishment!” Sensei had been ruthless, Spike's muscles dredged up the memory of the pain he'd been forced to endure at the hands of the other boys. For nights they would sit there in the dorm and laugh as he lay in bed trying hard not move. His chest tightened. He had never forgotten that lesson beaten into him. It weighed like a millstone around his neck.

“How very typical.” Vicious laughed. “We two—the last ones standing.”

“Two?” They had **never** truly stood together!

With a decisive turn of the wrist, Spike let the weapons ride against one another in a metallic squeal. He thrust the gun up into Vicious's face, pressing the muzzle against his right eye. The shot rang out. Head first, Vicious's weight flung backward, limp, he slumped against the blood soaked floor.

“Eye … for an eye, traitor!” Spike laid his head back, gulping in air. The fucking blade still pinned him to the wall. He couldn't reach the hilt. His only course of action was not appealing. Releasing a bitter laugh he considered, _ it's all in how one thought about it … just like ripping off a bandaid. _

He steeled himself with a deep breath. Then, in a swift motion he clamped one hand around the blade, then the other. Fighting to ignore the stinging squelch, he yanked—hard!

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

The katana clattered on the floor. Spike slid all the way down to the floor, panting. He had won … barely. His eyes desperately searched above him. How bad was it this time?

The stone wall … bore another chink. Not only that but a large crack had formed.

His eyes shut tight. _Fuck! This can't be happening. The problem is that this … all of this … had been real. Too much blood on my hands._

A low peel of laughter tormented him. “I tried to tell you—it's only a matter of time.”

* * *

There was something about the glimmer of the light against the polished floor, the scent of everything new teased her nose.

New—was that even a scent? It should be, Faye thought as she wandered through the mall reveling in the change of scenery. That was the thing about life on the  _ Bebop _ , as charming as it was, everything smelled of old oil, rust, and fish. Not like this collection of aromatic joy! Perfume, nail polish, clean freshly dyed fabrics. Her fingers longed to touch all of it. New, a scent and a texture. Yes. It was. And no one was going to convince her otherwise.

The past weeks had been rough, waking up in the hospital, staggering toward recovery, facing how much they had all been through, coming back to the ship—leaving Spike behind. She closed her eyes for a moment. Not another thought about that for the now. This was why she had come to the mall, to take a break from that. At least here it wasn't Jet's version of prohibition. God that beer tasted so wonderful at lunch! This was her version of therapy. She smiled to herself, and a chance for something else … at her side, Ed gamboled along making faces into the window reflections. Today was a girls day out. And it was high time for this.

“Hey Ed?” Faye placed her finger to her lips as she paused outside a shop, the reflection of the gangly Ed lined up over a mannequin wearing a dress. “What do you say we give you a proper make-over.”

“What's a make-over, Faye-Faye?” She blinked, luckily she had left the goggles behind.

Mischievously, she smiled. “It's something wonderful that women do.” Tugging on the back of Ed's practically trademarked loose white shirt, gah that was so shapeless—Faye pulled her into the Style Orbit 2 Infinity store.

Immediately a trend-chasing teen not much older than Ed, dashed up. She wore skin-tight jeans and a fitted top with a sparkling jazzkitty on it. “Hi, welcome to Style O—oh my.” She blinked at Ed, her jaw hanging open at the bare feet. “Uhhh, I'm Sheila … can I help you find something … uhhh … suitable, er, special today?”

Ed's eyes roved everywhere. “Ooooo lala!” She pointed at a shirt with the Alba city tower on it.

Rolling her freshly salon painted nails on her arm, Faye cleared her throat. “I hope you're up to a challenge, Sheila.”

Nervously she eyed Ed. “Well, of course. Here we serve all kinds. What are we interested in?”

Faye planted her hands on Ed's shoulders and drew her curious gaze up. “I think it's time to shed that tom-boy look and give you some girl style.”

“Girl style?” Ed cocked her head. “But Ed already looks like a girl.”

Ruffling her hair, Faye knew this would take the better part of the day. The perfect distraction she required right now. Leaning over Ed she started to deliver a long list of items for Sheila to hunt down, the poor girl's eyes looked panic stricken. “We'll be waiting in the dressing room.”

Minutes later the first batch of items arrived. Ed sat on the bench, pointer finger in her mouth as Faye cycled through holding the bras up and squinting. “Hrm, maybe … no, definitely no! This one has potential. But I think we'll try this one first. Ok, Ed, off with the shirt.”

Whipping the loose white shirt off, Ed circled it above her head cheering like a cowboy. “Yyyyyiiipppppeee!” When she released her hold, the shirt smacked Faye in the face.

Pealing it off, Faye tamped down her temper, almost telling herself Ed was only a child. But the truth was, she really wasn't. Granted the girl had barely changed from the day they had picked her up on Earth, but years had passed. She had to be approaching adulthood. And yet the only clothing she wore were biker shorts and a loose belly t-shirt. It was well past time for her first bra.

Reaching over, Faye tried to guide Ed's arms through the straps. She just giggled and squirmed. “Edward! Hold still.” That still seemed strange, but when she used that name it fostered some sense of cooperation. “Cinching the straps nearly all the way, Faye tugged the piece into place. “There we go. This is called a bra. And it's the most important piece of clothing for any woman, offering shape to her most important aspect.”

Ed giggled and grabbed onto the excess fabric forming empty flaps hanging down. “Hehehe girl pockets!”

Startled, Faye stopped mid-speech. She grabbed the back, flipping the tag out. “This is an A-cup? A training bra … and there's  ** still  ** room?” For Faye that boggled the mind! 

She peeked her head out of the door the moment she heard Sheila coming back with a stack of clothing. “Is there anything smaller than an A-cup?”

Sheila blinked and shook her head. “Of course not. Why?”

Blushing, Faye took the stack of dresses from her. “Great, umm, … well, don't need any more bras then.”

“Is there a problem with them?”

“More like no need for them.” She sighed. There went her chance for that honor. Shutting the door she unhooked it and tugged it off. Of course it hadn't worked. Ed was as flat chested as a toddler.

“Nyyyyoooo! Faye-Faye took Ed's pockets.”

“That's not what that was. Ok, on to the next. Shorts off.”

Glancing down, Ed shrugged and peeled them off. Now she stood in front of the mirror in nothing but her undies grinning like the innocent thing she was. Just a string bean, after all the biker shorts left nothing to the imagination. Ed's body, like her mind, had remained locked in perpetual immaturity for some reason. It was just … Ed.

So the question was which dress? “A woman's sense of style speaks for her. How much her clothing skims her body, how much skin she shows, what colors she wears and how they flatter her. The amount of care you take in your choices says a lot.” She pulled out a red sheath dress in stretch velvet. “This should go well with that hair color.”

Tugging it over Ed was a battle, the long sleeves hanging up. Soon enough her head popped out of the top and Faye was able to smooth it down … straight down. Ed … looked like a parking pole. “Hrm, that's not exactly the look we're going for.”

Ed blinked in the mirror. Her hand touched the fabric, eyes widened. “Ooooo sooo soft!” Engrossed she began petting her own arm.

“Nope, that's not a good style for you. We need something—hey, Ed, get back here.”

Instantly Ed started to laugh as she dodged the effort to grab her. “Ed likes the softness.”

Blocking the door, Faye blocked her into the back corner and wrestled the dress off her. “You're worse than Spike with a bandage change!”

“Eeeeehhhehhheeeee!”

At last Faye stood victorious with the dress in hand, she carefully put it back on the hanger. “Maybe something diffe—” she turned to discover Ed's arms poking out of another dress, this one purple with sparklies.

“Ed is stuck.”

It was hard not to laugh at least once. At least she was getting into it. Grabbing the hem, Faye tugged it down. This one wasn't a stretchy fabric, not as tight and had a bit of a flare at the waist. Knuckle to her lips, Faye pondered the fit. It was better than the red, but still not flattering.

Spinning around on the ball of her foot she cheered, “Ed's a disco ball! Sparkle! Sparkle! Bling!”

Faye stiffened before palming her face. This was going to be a lot harder than she thought.

Two dozen dresses and Sheila's shredded sanity later, Faye held up a pair of nylons. “These are tricky. You have to be careful putting them on. But trust me, they are an important part of a woman's wardrobe.”

Ed poked her finger at the pale colored fabric. “Stretchy.”

“Yes, and delicate. Nylons are something that need to be worn with great care. You don't just yank them on,” she rolled them down til just the toe poked out, “putting them on is a display of womanly grace.”

Ed took the wad from her. Cocking her head she shrugged. A second later she rammed her foot in and yanked it up.

“Edward! What are you … ugh!” Fortunately she hadn't snagged them. “Do you know what _delicate_ means?”

“Sure.” She reached for the other one. “Delicate is what Spike-person says Faye-Faye thinks she is, but she's not.”

“What?” She sat bolt upright. _How dare that—_

“Spike says that Faye-Faye isn't like fine porcelain, she's like marble.”

That was surprising. A complement, from him? In a way that was sweet.

“Hard and cold.”

Her fist tightened. She should have known that lunkhead! Well, if he only knew what she thought of  _ him _ . Nope! Today she was here not to think about him, to be distracted from a situation she could do nothing about. 

“Right. Nylons now mastered, on to shoes. These are another expression. The height of the heels, the shape of the toes, the color choice. Let's see, how about these?” She opened a box with a pair of high heels, smokey colored strings crisscrossing to form the open-toed shoe, wrapping up around the ankle. “Oh yes, these should be perfect.”

The door swung open and she turned to see the end of an ombre silk scarf flying out. “Weeeee!” Barefoot, Ed's steps smacked the tile floor as she danced around the store. “Ed is the pretties now!”

“Get back here!” Faye shouted, shoes still in her hand. “Edward!”

“Twirly whirly, disco ball bling! Ed has pretty clothes and brand new things. All dressied up and nowheres to goes!”

“Dang it, hold still!” Faye darted around the displays as Sheila stared in horror, clothes tipped down onto the floor in an avalanche of posh style. And still the barefoot Ed evaded, swinging the scarf around mannequins and having the time of her life. Faye shouted, “You're gonna wear shoes for once!”

“Nuh uhhh!” Ed stuck her tongue out, wriggling her toes. “No imprison tootsies!”

That one delay was enough, Faye tackled her and started wrestling the shoes onto her feet. Ed wriggled, laughing at the game. “What is it with you?”

“Faye-Faye is silly.” Ed sat up fixing her with a grin.

“Why?” She finished buckling the second shoe.

Ed wriggled her toes and gave a crooked smile. “Cause, she thinks clothes change a person.” Throwing her arms around Faye she hugged her. “The person is the person, even if they're naked.”

“Really?” She rubbed her temple for a moment, pondering that.

In that short amount of time when she looked up her eyes flashed wide. Ed stood barefoot in front of her, “Yup, see?” She tugged the dress off and flung it into Sheila's face.

“EDWARD!”

* * *

Somewhere around the ship there had to be one. And yet his search through the living room's storage had yielded nothing. Not even the couch cushions. Jet heaved a sigh. It had been hours since the girls had left. He regretted leaving this task to the last minute thinking it would be simple to find a poker chip. But like anything, once you needed it—it was gone.

He didn't want to go back to the hospital without one, not after Spike's request yesterday.

It occurred to Jet, Spike had one awhile ago. Maybe it was still in his rarely used quarters. The idea seemed like a good one, until he got closer to the room. The door remained closed. This was his ship, his inheritance, and yet—his hand on the hatch felt like trespassing.

For as little as Spike used it, this was  _ his _ room. 

Jet shook his head. “He asked for it. So … it's ok.”

Turning the wheel, he unlatched the door. The hinges groaned a bit as the gap increased. Light from the hall spilled inside—over the mess. Spike had never been a particularly tidy shipmate. The man was a perpetual bachelor. At least he'd kept his mess contained to his own quarters. This was like a weapons locker with a varied collection of explosives and guns strewn about. Not much else—except for some bottles of liquor and a couple cases of cigarettes. Shit, those bottles had to go—NOW! He picked them when something else caught his attention. Of course, Jet glanced up at the shelf above the fold down bunk, a surprising number of books.

He furrowed his brow. _ Where is his copy of the Art of War? _ That was always here whenever he glanced in.

Still, that wasn't what he was looking for. He shouldn't let himself get distracted.

A poker chip. “If I were one, where would I be? Hrmmm, well, keeping other poker chips company. But that's besides the point. This is Spike, where would he keep … ”

Jet's foot tapped a small box beneath one of Spike's rumpled shirts hanging off the edge of the bunk. Kneeling down he picked it up. Wooden, carved with an Earth Oriental dragon and inlaid with mother-of-pearl. It looked old, a section of it worn with a divot like a fingerprint. He realized it had been from prolonged use.

Spike … had a sentimental side?

Carefully, he opened it. Inside it winked up at him, the poker chip he remembered Spike flicking when he'd been playing drug lord. “Haha! Bingo!”

He plucked it up. Underneath it something caught his attention. Old photos, cracked and stained with age. He picked them up carefully and stared at a younger Spike. A man he had not known; younger, fiercer, wearing a leather jacket, an edge to the eyes staring at the camera. Beside him a golden haired woman leaned her shoulder into his chest, a somber smile at the camera. They were in a bar by the smokey haze and the neon lights. In another photo Spike had his arm around the shoulders of a white haired man with a steely glare. The gun in Spike's grip none other than his prized Jericho. The names came to him … Julia and Vicious. He'd never met either of them, never even seen an image of them before. Yet, these ghosts of Spike's past stared out at him through all those years and he felt their impact.

Had they known when the lens was on them those distant days how it would all end? Spike clearly hadn't. There it was in Spike's eyes, defiant, devil-may-care … reckless. The hellion in those photos he doubted had even considered anything beyond the next breath. Back then he had lived … and died, for the dragon he served.

He did a double take. In the second photo, grasped in the hand over Vicious's shoulder, he spied the flash of gold tinted foil on red plastic.

The poker chip!

* * *

The door to his room stood open. Jet took a deep breath. It was unnerving how heavy the ordinary piece of plastic weighed in his hand. Why was this so important to him? This wasn't even the same one from the photo. It was just a random chip Spike'd swiped from the full set. Weary of turning the question over and over, he heaved a sigh and entered, crossing the room to the side of Spike's bed. 

Spike's head rested against the pillow, eyes cracked open staring at nothing. Jet wondered if he was even there behind the blank gaze. The shadows beneath his eyes dark and carved deep, almost like twin shiners. But he hadn't been in any knock-out brawls.

Now Jet was relieved he had come alone. The girls didn't need to see this. He held up the chip between his fingers. “Hey pard, good news. Look what I found. Sorry, I had to rifle through your stuff to find it. I didn't think you'd mind since you asked.”

He waited a full minute for him to take it … but Spike didn't seem to even be aware of him.

Unsure what else to do, Jet reached out and opened the fingers of Spike's left hand. He pressed the poker chip into his palm and closed his hand around it. “Here. Hope it helps.”

Nothing. Not so much as twitch. With his shoulders sagging, Jet shifted in a turn to leave.

Slowly, Spike lifted his hand and opened the palm, his half-lidded eyes narrowing at the shimmer of light off the gold foiled emblem. His brow furrowed-deep. Eyes clenched tight as he began to mutter soundlessly.

Jet cocked his head. It was like plunking a coin into an automaton and watching it come to life. “Spike … what are you saying?”

His eyes snapped open, fixed on Jet. “I have to run!”

“Whoa!” He took a step back. “Slow down! Barely a handful of words in a week and then this? Spike, you can barely lift your head off the pillow. You can't even sit up, let alone run.”

He shook his head swiftly, the hand still gripped the poker chip as he reached toward him, panic invading his eyes. “Jet … listen … it's … no, fuck … focus—focus!” He winced, obviously struggling to dredge something up. “It's him! He's here!”

Leaning closer Jet forced a smile, looking around the small room. “Calm down, pard. Who? It's just the two of us in here.”

He clawed the air, pointing toward the door. “Him … you know.” For a moment he shut his eyes, concentrating hard before stuttering, “Mo … Mor … Morpheus!”

That shocked him. Not a name he wanted to hear—ever again. “Kid, take a few deep breaths. You've been dealing with some heavy shit. You're just imaging things. This is probably just from that. Haven't you been talking about him with Holt?”

His eyes widened, but his frantic efforts failed to shift his feeble body in the bed. “He  _** is ** _ Holt!”

Jet laughed. “Ok, what are they giving you in this?” He ticked the IV hanging down. “Cause it's clearly not agreeing with you.”

“I don't know … but Jet … Morpheus is … oh God … you have to get me out of here!”

Crouching down, Jet placed a hand on his shoulder just as the poor guy broke into a cold sweat. “Spike, I can't. There's no way. I'm not equipped to handle your condition right now.” He glanced at the feeding tube sticking out from beneath the covers, weighing in his mind whether to reveal the bitter truth. He swallowed. “The thing is … the doctors here are even struggling with their resources.”

“But … but … ” His eyes darted around the room. “You don't understand! Morpheus. Is. Here!”

The muted beep of an alarm stole Jet's attention. “Spike, you need to calm down. You're hyperventilating.” It wasn't just that, his pulse was racing.

He shook his fist gripping the poker chip in the air. His outcry breathy, slightly slurred, “You aren't listening!”

It pained Jet to see him so hysterical. He'd been so withdrawn, verging on catatonic—then this? How? Why? “You're not making any sense. Look, Spike, you're on a **lot** of medications right now. And there's no doubt under a shitload of stress.”

“That's not it.” He held up the chip staring at it. “This … Fuck! He's using hypnotism! This is his gateway!”

“Listen to yourself, this is crazy talk. Holt is your therapist. Look, I should go speak with her—”

He grabbed Jet's wrist, the chip still in his hand pressing against the skin. His palm clammy, far too weak. It would take next to nothing to evade his grasp. “Don't! Don't talk to her! Don't go near her! Don't touch her! Get me out of here! Please!”

Carefully, Jet pried Spike's fingers from his wrist. “I should go. I'm just upsetting you.”

“Jet! Don't leave me here!” He whimpered.

“I'm sorry. But if I took you to the ship it would only be to watch you die. I won't do that. This is for your own good.”

He clenched his eyes tight, rolling his head away against the pillow. Slowly, his left hand crossed over, and with clumsy fingers he pushed the poker chip up inside the palm of his cast. Clasping his fingers, it vanished from view.

“Alright, you can keep it. It's yours anyway.” Jet patted his shoulder. “Take it easy, Spike. I'll see you later, ok?” He'd been about to take a step toward the door.

“Maybe … ” There was a chilling tone to Spike's voice.

Jet swallowed a lump in his throat and forced himself to walk out of the room determined to locate Spike's doctor for a quick … concerned chat.

A nurse dashed past him into the room, her voice carried out into the hall. “Well, aren't we worked up after such a long quiet spell. We can do something about that, honey.”

“No!” Spike blurted. “Don't! You have to listen.”

“Shhh, it's just a panic attack. We were expecting these. Lemme just add a little … All set now. Give that a few minutes and you'll feel more relaxed. No—don't try and pull the IV, Spike. You need that.”

“Stop holding my arm! You don't understand! I have to—”

“You need to calm down.”

Jet swallowed and hung his head, fighting the urge to run to the rescue of his friend. But … Spike needed what they were giving him. Even if he wanted to … Spike's condition was too complicated for what he had available on the ship. This was a matter time, time was all he needed.


	29. Session 29

_ **Session 29** _

They were so small, delicate, and unlike his life—controllable. Smoke tendrils drifted up from the cigarette between Jet's lips as he painstakingly snipped a bit of rogue growth from the bonsai tree on his bench. A shelf up, the black marked robot compy perched with the hint of a smile on his narrow face. The eyes were closed as he basked in the artificial light recharging batteries. Beneath his feet, Ein snoozed contentedly, paws twitching as he dreamed.

Nice to have a bit of quiet companionship as he let his thoughts settle from the disturbing visit to the hospital roughly an hour ago. At the very least the compy in his presence was one of the less troublesome of the brood. Odd, seeing as how  Shu ĭ was the one closely bonded to Spike. How had that worked out? If going by logic the clepto was probably the most likely. And yet, by some strange sense of gravity  Shu ĭ, the one who lingered in the background most of the time seemed to be Spike's mechanical shadow. 

Of course one of them tended to be around Jet too, if he was paying any attention. And sure enough, when he reached for his scissors he spied the dabs of yellow nail-polish between the nostrils from behind a bonsai. Tŭ handed the tool up to him. This little bugger seemed to favor Jet, for some reason. At least it wasn't that damn clepto one! Faye would go on and on about how someone had stolen her shit. Sure enough hours later when they disassembled half the ship they'd find Jīn sitting on his hoard of random stuff in some cubby hole.

At the moment Jet took a deep breath, content that these two were the ones in his presence. Their names, water and earth. Soothing. Between his fingers, something he could control. At the moment he could pretend all was well.

_Just a little sni—_

The door squealed back. “Edward! That's the last time I take you anywhere!”

The scissors shifted and a much larger portion came off the tree. Jet groaned. After he rubbed his eyes he discovered Tŭ holding the branch back in place as if it could fix the problem. That wouldn't work, but it could grow back—in time.

“Why is Faye-Faye so red?”

“Because—I don't like getting banned from a mall! Streaking is not acceptable, Ed. That wasn't funny.”

“The uni-man was laughing.”

_ Ugh, I could use a drink about now.  _ He tossed the branch into the trash can.  _ But of course there's not a drop on the ship. Unless I missed something in Spike's quarters. Shit. Reminds me, I gotta do a better sweep in there. _

Faye stomped down the hall. “That news camera is about to broadcast your blurred rump all over the system!”

A peel of laughter followed, “And a red-faced Faye-Faye. Huff huff, Faye-Faye!”

It wasn't hard to connect the dots. Faye turned outside the door and bellowed back, “I wouldn't have been chasing you, you little shit, if you hadn't run out of the store. You're lucky we weren't charged with shoplifting!”

“Can't be. Can't lift a shop, it's part of the building.”

“Ooooo! Ed!” She turned and was about to say something when her eyes fell on Jet. Suddenly she dropped the tantrum like a hot potato. “Oh, hey, you're back. I thought you'd still be there. Did you find it?”

Jet nodded, not meeting her gaze.

“And … did it help?”

He lowered his head and shook it. “He just started spouting some nonsense about needing to run, insisting on coming back to the ship.”

She held onto her elbow, chewing on her lip for a moment. “Maybe he's just homesick. That would make sense. I mean, look what a difference coming home made for me.”

Unable to save the current bonsai, Jet pushed it aside and pulled another off the shelf stirring  Shu ĭ from his recharging. His little beady eyes followed the path of the tree. “I've said it before and I'll say it again, even though it pains me, I can't take care of Spike as he is at this point. His condition is too unstable.”

Faye closed the distance and sat down beside him. When Ein looked up, she scritched his ears as the dog pressed into the contact. “He's coming home, Jet. Maybe not tomorrow—but we'll get him back home with us. Hey, for the next visit how about we all go, even Ein.”

He shifted and nuzzled against Jet's leg.

“Who knows … maybe together we can lure Spike out of his funk.”

Picking up the scissors, Jet carefully selected a branch. This whole thing was trying his patience. Mightily.

* * *

After a deep breath Spike gritted his teeth, again he tried to sit up. The moment his gut muscles engaged the various tubes and wires shifted, one of the many producing a sharp organ deep stab. Not to mention the motion tugged on the raw incision from the surgery that was still stubbornly slowly healing.

He hissed at the surge of discomfort. Reluctantly, he released the hard gained tension and lay plastered against the sheets, panting.

This was worse, so much worse than he had noticed. No matter what he did, he couldn't unlatch the damn device around his abdomen. He pushed to the back of his mind what ripping every last one of those buggers would feel like. The damn tubes that kept him tethered to the bed were but one obstacle. Stuck on his back, he couldn't even roll onto his side. Moving with the embedded tubes hurt, but pain was one thing—he could probably push through that on its own. The bad, insurmountable part … the atrophy. His efforts to lift his legs had met with little success. He could get maybe an inch beneath the covers for less than a sustained minute and that had been shaky as hell. Struggling against a mere blanket, there was no way they would support even a fraction of his body weight.

Lifting his head? Hah, that proved just as fruitless. Weeks of lying here had stripped him far more than he cared to admit. Prior to his dreaded realization, thanks to the tiny trinket concealed in his cast keeping him grounded in reality, reconditioning muscles just seemed to be another part of the process, one he'd come back from before. But not faced with this! If he stayed here bound in this damn bed Morpheus was going to finish him off and there would be no reconditioning from that! What good would managing to leave this bed do him if could achieve nothing more than lying panting on the floor, doing a poor impression of a Ganymede sea slug. Who was he kidding … a sea slug could move further than he could at the moment. 

_ Damn you, Jet! Why couldn't you have believed me? _ It would have been possible to leave here if Jet had loaned him a shoulder to lean on. But because of his stubborn clinging to the logic that Spike was just over medicated, he was left on his own, abandoned.

Spike growled. While he'd been in that damn haze from whatever the nurse had given him as Jet left they had put something more than tape and gauze over the damn IV site. His efforts to dislodge that little delivery system had been utterly thwarted but a wide cuff like device covering the tube. He suspected another night had passed, but he wasn't ultimately sure. The damn drugs were dulling his edge. Was the whole solar system conspiring against him?

“I have to get out of here.” Looking around, he scrambled for anything. Any possible tactic to free himself from being held hostage. But there were no railings on his bed. Nothing for his single good arm to grasp. His single good arm which was weaker than hell.

“Shit!” He tried again to shift in the bed, huffing a puffing with the strain. The short exertion left him flattened, gasping each breath, not having shifted his sorry ass a damn inch.

The door opened and Holt appeared with a smile.

Time had run out. Spike instantly forced his face slack, his right fingers clamped on the poker chip.  _ This is the long game now. Make him believe he still has you cornered … another round just like any other. Damn you, Jet, why didn't you listen to me? _

* * *

Nothing prepared Faye. She came around the corner into the room with Ed and Ein in tow while Jet hunted down the staff for a quick update. In the bed, Spike was trying to reach across with his casted hand and grab onto the IV. Now instead of being held in place by tape and gauze, they had closed a protective device around his arm preventing any such meddling, especially in his current handicapped state. There was no way he could even close his fingers around the tube if he got it. What was he thinking?

Though he hardly looked healthier, his complexion pale and gaunt, he was at least livelier. After all he was gritting his teeth trying to pry the damn cuff off, working so hard at it he was sweating.

“Hey Spike! What the hell are you doing?” She rushed to the bedside, pushing his casted hand aside.

“Getting out of here!”

“Uhhh,” she eyed the lumps under the blanket from the tubes, “hate to tell you but … ”

His eyes stared into her with a maddening conviction. “Faye, this can't continue. I can't keep going through this over and over and over again. Please—you have to listen to me. Someone has to listen to me!”

At her side, Ed padded up slowly, her finger hanging from between her lips. Faye nodded in a placating fashion … Spike was clearly out of his mind. “Okay … sure. I'm listening.”

“He's back.”

Faye chuckled nervously. “Who?” She didn't want to hear the answer she suspected he was going to give.

Barely lifting his head from the pillow he spat it out, “Morpheus.”

Instantly she shook her head. “No. That's not possible. Spike—we saw Jet take him out.”

“That's not what happened.”

Her pulse started to increase, thundering in her ears. “I refuse to believe it. He's dead.”

“He already was.” He shook his head as frantically as he could, and that was frighteningly little. “Faye—he made it out! He's here, in this hospital! He's been torturing me.”

“How?”

“Holt.”

Cold water down the spine. “Not possible.” Her own sessions when she'd been here had been fine. Holt had been genuinely helpful. No hint of that sadistic bastard. It would have been obvious. She muttered aloud. “It doesn't even make sense, if it was him why didn't he go after me?”

He clenched his eyes tight. “Look, I don't know! But he's here!”

“Somnus has been destroyed.”

“This isn't Somnus!” Spike stared up at her and she realized what she heard in his voice—fear. “He's hijacked Holt and he's been using hypnosis to get into my head—literally.” With a quick gesture he exposed the sliver of red visible tucked in the cast against his skin .

Her eyes widened. That was why he'd wanted it, Jet had said the change was instantaneous. “This just … No—I don't want to even think about this … ”

He clawed at her wrist. “How do you think _ **I**_ feel? Faye—please you have to believe me! You have to help me!”

This was crazy. Jet had to be right, Spike was just going through a tough patch, stressed and medicated he was imagining things. Because the alternative … Staring at the fingers weakly clamped around her wrist, she shivered. Morpheus … running loose? That was unthinkable.

Jet wandered through the door, a forced smile on his face that only grew more strained when he spied the agitated Spike. “Sounds like they're going to try a few new things.”

“Faye!” Spike tugged weakly at her.

“I just … I don't … ” A lump caught in her chest. This couldn't be happening. The name haunted her thoughts. _Morpheus?_

A low, barely audible growl turned all their heads. By the doorway, Ein stood with his hackles fully raised, ears laid back. Something had him worked up. Swiftly, Ed dashed over to collect him. Her eyes widened. For a full minute no one moved or said a word. Then, very slowly, Ed turned to Faye, Jet, and Spike—the most shocked expression on her face.

“What was he growling at?” Jet took a guarded step forward.

“Holt passed by.” She whispered, “Ein said … Morpheus.”

Spike closed his eyes. “Finally! Someone believes me!”

Clutching the tied sleeves of her over shirt, Faye fretted. “Oh God, oh no … this can't be happening.”

Swiftly, Jet closed the door and stormed back over to the bedside taking Ed and Ein in close with him.

Spike locked eyes with Jet. “For the last time—get me out of here!”

“I can't do that.” He gestured to the essential support system.

“Jet!” Faye planted her hands on her hips. “What are you going to do, abandon him?”

“We'll tell the staff.” He blurted out, clearly unsettled.

Spike tried to push himself up and failed miserably. The effort ended in a pained grimace. “No, that won't work. I've already tried—they just think I'm crazy. Besides, they can't stop him. He'll just jump to someone else.”

That was a jolt of a shock. “Jump?”

“It's how he got here.” Spike flopped back down with a groan. “Something about a cop getting shocked back at the ruins. Morpheus is a parasite, he needs a host. Something to occupy. Jet—tell me you didn't talk to Holt!”

He shook his head. “Not yesterday. I couldn't find her.”

Spike rolled his eyes back and exhaled. “Good. Stay away.”

“We need to keep her from you.” Faye looked to the door. “But how … ”

“If he finds out I know, things could get more aggressive. We need a plan. Some way of catching him.”

“How?”

“I don't know!” Spike shouted. “Fuck! I've been scrapping for my life these past … days … a week? I don't even know how long! I haven't had time to figure out a damn plan! Been busy just trying to get someone to listen to me!” He scowled at Jet, weary but effective.

He held his hands up. “In my defense, it sounded like nonsense, pard! But I get it now.”

“But you trust the damn dog.” Spike grumbled. “Which reminds me, hand him over I want to give him a good hug.”

Ed scooped down to pick him up. In mid action Jet stopped her. “Not the best idea, Spike-o's still got a sliced gut.”

He squirmed. “Annnnnd … thanks for  _ that _ reminder.”

“Guys,” Faye gestured toward the door, “we have a serious problem here. If Morpheus can jump bodies … wait, then why hasn't he taken over you yet?”

“I'm too resilient.” He shrugged. “He hasn't been able to nail my subconscious yet, I'm aware of his presence even with the hypnosis. A person's will seems to have something to do with it. That cop was in a coma so no resistance, and the shrink? I dunno … too trusting, open, ehhh, I'm really not sure how it worked so well. But he's dug in tight. I haven't seen a hint of the real Holt.”

Faye slashed the air with her hand. “We can't let him get out of here. Can you imagine the devastation that madman would cause if he roamed free? The whole of Mars would be his playground. We're the only ones who know what he is capable of.”

“Has Holt been doing a visit every day?”

Spike nodded. “Already finished today, and the best I can tell Morpheus doesn't know about our little secret.” He flashed the edge of the chip.

Jet murmured. “So that gives us a day to form a plan.”

Stepping closer to the bed, Ed grinned from ear to ear. “Ed has a plan.” All eyes turned on her. “But Spike-person probably won't like it.”

Taking Ed by the shoulder along with him, Jet walked over by the window. Instantly his brow furrowed as Ed spoke in her typical animated fashion.

Left behind Spike fixated on trying to read their lips. Faye took his hand, seizing his attention. “We're not leaving you behind ever again, Spike. That bastard—he's not getting away with what he's done.”

“The man doesn't have a body? How can we possibly contain a consciousness?”

She reached out and combed her fingers through his tangled hair. “We'll find a way because we have to. Because messing with people like this … ” she couldn't finish as a shiver traveled down her spine and it wasn't even cold in here.

Jet clomped back to the bed. “Spike. How far are you willing to go to get this asshole?”

He swallowed, his hand tensing in Faye's grip. “After what he's done? … I'm all in. Whatever it takes so he can't pull this shit ever again.”

He nodded. “Ok pard. Faye, stay here with Spike. Make sure no one messes with him. I'm gonna go talk to the doc, we're going to need a hand in this, and then Ed and I are heading back to the  _ Bebop _ for her computer. We'll be back as soon as we can.”

Ed grinned ear to ear, wringing her hands. “Heeeeee! We gonna lay a trap for the shadow man!”


	30. Session 30

_ **Session 30** _

Spike's pulse throbbed in his ears. He did not want to even think about the eminent endeavor and yet it was unavoidable—all morning that's all that was on the table. He lay in the center of it all, confined to the damn bed under the rain of **the plan** being finalized.

He knew what he had to do. And that was what worried him. The margin of success—no one was talking about how slim that was. Years ago he wouldn't have given a shit about that. Whatever happens, happens had been the word of the day. But now … _now_ he realized how foolishly shortsighted he had been for the vast majority of his life.

At his bedside Faye sat humming a vague tune. By the unfocused look on her face, she was likely unaware she was even doing it. Spike didn't even bother with a snide remark of her being slightly off key, instead he tried to focus on the rhythm of the notes rather than his runaway heartbeat. Who knew you could do cardio while being entirely bed-ridden.

Near the window he heard the typing of Ed's lightning fast fingers—she'd been at it all night, pulling her part of this insane plan with Ein at her side staring at the screen. Somehow that lifted his confidence a touch. The two strongest hackers in the solar system were behind this crazy endeavor.

Even still. Jet stood at the other side of his bed, arms crossed. When at last Ed leaned back with a mischievous grin, he bent down to Spike. “Ok kid, we're ready on our end. How about you?”

Spike stared him square in the eyes. “I _really_ must be medicated—I can't believe I let you talk me into this!”

“You'll be just fine. We'll be in the other room at the start. Looking at the visual recording of the past sessions we know Holt is just as still as you with eyes shut the whole time. Probably in the same hypnotized state. So, once this starts we'll do our part.”

“And what if this doesn't work? Did you consider that?”

Jet furrowed his brow. Clearly he hadn't. “It's going to work,” he started with that infuriating finality.

“But—there could be time a dilation, or a— ”

“It's going to work!” He barked more forcefully. “Because I've lost you once, and that's not gonna happen again. We've got a solid plan. All you need to do is—”

“The hard part.” Spike muttered closing his dark rimmed eyes while trying to fight down the rising panic. There was no room for error. If he lost this round he could be buried and unreachable, or simply to mentally fucked to function, or Morpheus would have a new fleshy puppet to play with. He shuddered. “You have no idea what you asked.” What was wrong with them? They were trying to catch a deceased bodiless megalomaniac that no one knew existed, let alone had a bounty out for!

Jet smiled down at him, gripping his shoulder. That smile—was clearly forced. “If anyone can pull this stunt off, it's you.”

That was hardly comforting, as Spike had spent a fairly restless night staring at the ceiling petrified of Ed's _brilliant_ plan. She'd been right. He hated every aspect of this. But he had to face facts—there was no other way. Meaning Spike had no choice but to offer himself up as bait and hope to hell that nothing went wrong … like it usually did. Under normal circumstances that wasn't too big of a problem. They'd just take another shot. But this time … his brain kept circling around to meat puppet mode.

As Ed and Ein dashed for the doorway, Jet wandered around to Faye's side and touched her arm. “It's time. Everything's set up. Let's go so we're not seen.”

Faye stood and lingered beside him, taking his hand. “Hang in there, Spike. You may be a weakling out here who looses to gravity … ”

“Hey!”

“ … but in here,” she brushed her fingers against the right side near his temple stroking his damp matted hair down against the skin where it stuck, “you're an unstoppable force. And remember, nail that bastard in the balls for me!”

Exhaling, Spike rolled his eyes. “Really Faye? Those could be your last words to me and you go for the family jewels on a bodiless guy?”

Faye flicked him lightly on the nose. “This coming from the imbecile who went to Space Land dressed as a mummy to take on the jerk off who already nearly succeeded in blowing his ass up.”

About to respond to her quip, Spike found he couldn't even deflect that. He just sat there with his jaw hanging open. Proof he really had lost his touch … which worried him all the more.

“Good luck, Lunkhead. For once don't screw this up.” Her fingers un-twined from his as she left the room.

Now, he was alone. Waiting … feeling like the block of cheese in a mousetrap. Now that was a perspective he never imagined before. Certainly he'd engaged in stake-outs before. Hell, he'd even laid traps where he had sat waiting for his victim to walk right into his range. This felt strangely like that, only worse. Maybe it was because he was truly the bait this time. Maybe it had to do with the battleground. Going toe to toe was one thing on a physical line. He was about to pull it off—inside his head.

_Remember—as far as Morpheus knows you're still a suppressed fool who doesn't know what's going on. And thankfully the doctor had played along with that._ He had already spoken to Holt this morning, scheduling the session so they knew when to be ready. And now Spike stared at the clock, watching the minutes tick by til …

The door opened and Holt wandered in with a sinister smile. Shutting the door, she walked across the room with hands behind her back.

Spike's hair plastered down on his forehead from the cold sweat, nearly getting in his eyes. He didn't reach up to brush it away, instead he stared straight ahead through half lidded eyes, pretending to play possum, as though this were on the _Bebop_ and Jet had approached him lying on the couch with a boring bounty he wanted nothing to do with. Shifting his palm against the concealed poker chip, Spike took comfort in the sensation—his mind still in the moment. His short circuit to Morpheus's system remained intact. Though Morpheus could still take him under—at least now Spike was aware of his game inside and out.

“Someone looks well rested.” Holt stated a bit too cheerily.

Forcing down his reactions, Spike executed a slow blink.

“Did you sleep last night?”

He slowly shook his head, maintaining that lost expression.

“Awww, poor boy. Well, let's see what we can do about that, shall we?” Out came the coin. Tink. It flicked in the air.

Spike couldn't resist it if he wanted to. His eyes were drawn to it.

Tink … it grabbed his eyes, pulling the gaze up and down as though attached by a string.

Tink! His eyelids drooped.

Tink ... this world sank away.

Cold rough stone pressed against his fingers. He opened his eyes to find his back against the cracked wall of his final bastion. He had no reason to doubt Morpheus's decree of what this actually was. His instincts confirmed it. It wasn't the medication rendering him a nervous wreck—no, this right here was why he'd been so twitchy and raw. How old had he been when this particular mental blockage had been constructed?

Not even an adult yet.

_Sensei_ … in front of Spike Leonard materialized as the man in his wicked prime he had met, at an age when he had to literally look up to his master.

Was this Spike controlling the dream world calling up his once influential teacher? Or was this Morpheus's sick joke twisting the memory of his greatest mentor?

“Spike.” Sensei approached slowly, and at ease. “My perfect pupil.”

“Heh.” Gripping the wall, Spike braced himself. That answered his question. “Nice try, Morpheus. But those were not words he would have said.”

Leonard cocked his head like an injured dog.

“One of his principles revolved around perfection. _Perfection is like the bonsai tree—if we are doing it right through constant growth it is a goal that is never completed._ What were you going to do? Have him talk me into knocking down the walls he taught me were essential?”

Slowly, Leonard sat down cross-legged on the floor. Calm, unreadable as the stones of the earth. That had been sensei's way. Earth. A firm foundation. “You always did remember my lessons well.”

Spike snorted. “You had a way of making sure our flesh and bones never forgot your teachings!” Even now his bones resonated from all the damage he'd taken in that dojo in the spirit of learning. As a weapon was forged in the fires, beaten over and over again to shape its destiny, Spike never in all his days could forget the final forging before his initiation. The memory surging to the surface surpassed the mental anguish of his current bed-ridden state.

The grim declaration all those years ago rang in his mind— _prove you are worthy of life one breath at a time_.

His chest tightened, but he forced down the sensation and the horridly crippling existential crisis he had faced as an adolescent boy. No one should ever ask themselves that question—let alone a mere boy. Despite that, long ago he had proven it. At least then. “If you think I am sitting down leaving myself open, you are more of a fool than I thought and that bar is already on the floor.”

He shrugged and scratched his chin. “You tended to wait for your enemy to move into your space. That was what made you so deadly. You were patient, perceptive, learning your opponent's weaknesses that they did not even know and turning it against them.”

“I also wasn't vain enough to fall for ass kissing, that kind of shit only had an effect on Vicious on a rare good day. And if you were my real sensei you'd know that. Get out of his skin, Morpheus. This won't work.”

In a mockery of a meditative position, he cracked open his eyes. “The walls, what were they for?”

Spike huffed a breath. “I'm not a child in the dojo.”

“What were they for?”

“I'm done playing. I won't answer any of your questions as you tarnish the memory of a great man.”

An eyebrow raised. “A great man? A man who knowingly beat the shit out of his students?”

“He was steeling us against the brutality of life.” Too late Spike realized he'd been lured. He clamped his tongue.

A slow smile broadened. “A man who claimed this was all essential to ensure their survival.”

He snarled but swallowed it, calming himself down. The raging rapids betray their hazards, still water conceals them. Spike needed his edge and there were a few ways to egg him into giving it up—Vicious had known those. Morpheus had learned them.

“Oh, that's right, you are alive because of my teachings.” He held up a hand. “Watching you all suffer as you tore one another to bits was a lesson plan in the great scheme of life. Incredible … and entertaining.”

There was no doubt this was the mental battleground, but this was an odd shift of tactics. Instead of throwing the full chess set at him, Morpheus seemed to be choosing just the rook, coming at him sideways in the eerily empty darkened horizon. What was he getting at? Was Sensei a distraction? There was no doubt Spike held the man in high regard. But Spike had trained against him—had many bouts where he savagely took on his mentor without reserve—something that was encouraged. Not precisely the best weapon to throw at him. And ages ago Spike had questioned the brutal tactics he had employed to toughen the boys. Mere boys! But how many times those very lessons forged into instincts had saved his ass.

Those were Sensei's demons, not Spike's. So far within his own head Morpheus had been unable to turn back the clock. Denying him an advantage as Spike had remained his adult self in his prime, ready to fight.

And right now, he was ready. But to take on Sensei meant stepping away from the wall.

Was that the tactic? If they stood here time would run out.

“So entertaining, shall we see it again?” He grinned, stretching his arms out at his sides.

One by one they came out of the darkness. Gable, Kieran, Kade, Anders, Lance, Harley, boy after boy even a young version of Vicious staring through bitter eyes.

Did he think Spike would hesitate because they were youths? Morpheus made a horrid misjudgment there. After all, they'd been sparing partners. Terrible to one another as they pulled pranks and episodic hazing.

Spike narrowed his eyes. No. Morpheus had gotten more calculating. There was something more to this that he was overlooking.

Leonard remained in the meditation posture, a soft smile on his face. “The first time you killed wasn't your initiation, was it.”

His breath hitched in his chest.

“Do you remember? All those years ago staring into the eyes in your flickering lighter. The pleading cries … ”

“Spike! Vicious! Help!” They echoed, the voice of a young boy as if bouncing off the walls in the darkness … as it had been all those years ago. The sobbing that he had used to detect where his target was in the pitch black.

Sweat caked Spike's palms at the memory.

“Sensei didn't order this. You and Vicious took it upon yourselves.”

“It was revenge.” The words came unbidden. “It wasn't just a hazing.”

“Nor was it harmless. Neither boy was found alive.”

_Whose plan had it been?_ Spike ran a hand through his hair. _Had it been my idea or Vicious's? We'd both lured them to their fates. But that was after a long discussion. The place …_ a pit opened in his stomach, _… I had found the place on my explorations._

“How long do you suppose it took for that concussion and internal bleeding to claim him?” Sensei's voice was drifting toward Morpheus's tone and cadence, invaded by his gleeful sadism. “And you both evaded punishment because no one ever suspected you two. But they should have. Those boys had to pay the price. Those boys had to die, right?”

Spike shook his head. _Pay attention, he's trying to distract you!_

He laughed, “Boys will _kill_ boys! And ohhh you did, you bloodthirsty little shit that you were. No wonder when the time came to step up you didn't have the faintest reservation. Ahh well, then you'll have no trouble with this.”

Slowly the boys advanced on him wielding weapons, and not the practice versions. These were the real deal. Even still, this was Morpheus's tactic? To have him take on a bunch of adolescent punks? This was easy compared the endless line of victims he'd been facing.

“Oh! I almost forgot one thing.” He snapped his fingers and Annie appeared staring at Spike, disappointment in her eyes.

The knife twisted in his heart even as he muttered to himself, _this isn't really her._ The frightening fact was that didn't matter. Her eyes impacted him all the same.

“Ahhh, there we are. Alright boys, have at him.”

All as one they rushed toward him. Spike snapped into a defense stance. _Damn it Jet! I tried to tell you this was a bad idea!_


	31. Session 31

“Oooo low blow! You really don't know how to hold back.” Morpheus, still in Leonard's guise, kept up his endless barrage of teasing. “Let's face it, Spike, you were _never_ innocent! You called Vicious out on his savagery, but you were just as devious.”

With a snarl on his face, he stood over Kade's body, the head snapped backward at an unnatural angle from a nasty kick. The floor already drenched with blood—his own mingled with the other boys, now battered and broken. Blood dripped from his hands, the sensation distracting him. _They aren't real. And it wouldn't matter if they were. We all stood knowingly at that line!_

“You did? My my, even him?” Pointing down at Kade's body he snorted. “Seem to remember that he only made it to the 'kicked out' phase with one leg to stand on thanks to you. Heh heh. Doubt he lasted a week after that.”

“Shut up!” Spike huffed. For some reason Vicious hung back scowling at him, over the course of the skirmish he had grown into adulthood flicking his katana impatiently. It was almost like every boy's death fueled his growth like some strange sacrificial ritual. Spike kept his eyes on his opponent, the last one standing. This seemed far too easy.

Young Annie screamed, running toward him she grabbed his shoulder. “Why are you doing this? This isn't the life for you. Run away, get out before Mao inducts you!”

The instincts ran too deep. He couldn't stop the reaction before his hand flew directly at her throat. The bones snapped at the strike and she dropped. Annie's body now lay among them, he had tried to spare her—but her pleading with him to stop drove him to the edge. She'd never understood what he'd been through, he'd had no other options back then. “Too late. What's done is done.”

Morpheus clapped his hands. “Yes, yes it is. And oh what a list of accomplishments. You and Vicious really cleaned up, didn't you. I mean, that was your duty after all. Let's look at the job description.” Suddenly Mao took the place of Leonard, he held a ceremonial scroll in his hands, reading from it with a pleasant smile on his face. “Enforcers are tasked with the elimination of every threat to the Red Dragon, from external to internal.” Mao looked up and met Spike's hard gaze. “Astonishing how many felt they could leave without consequence. And you, you were a faithful hunter. That was until you forced me to send hunters for you … if only in show. Do you know how much that hurt me? I treated you like a son.”

Spitting blood, Spike glared at him while still watching Vicious who slowly stalked into a wider arc, closer to his side. This attempt to split his attention worried him. This wasn't Mao—this was Morpheus who could inflict some serious damage if he so desired. “I never asked for that. And frankly, you were a fool. You treated your own murderer like a son.”

“Funny, coming from the mouth of a walking bag of instinctual bones. What did you think we were doing in those early years? We were in the business of bloodshed. My whole division was dedicated to protecting the Red Dragon legacy.”

“Bullshit!” Spike pointed at Vicious. “You were hobbled right from the start. You knew what a danger he was, yet you kept him. How many times did others pay the price for his betrayals? How many times did you have me cover his tracks! **You** were disloyal to the Dragon and it cost everything!”

_Shit! I have to calm down. He's getting too close. That isn't Mao … Mao is dead … Mao is …_

“ … the man who ordered the death of your parents.” Mao vanished to be replaced by Lumen and Lyra, they smiled and waved at him.

Spike staggered backward a step. His left eye blurred half his vision as it teared up.

“What's the matter, son?” Lumen tugged on his lab coat. “I mean, it's just another day for a hit man, right? How many industry workers found themselves on the other end of your gun?”

_Too many …_ questioning orders wasn't encouraged, though Mao did allow it to a degree from him. How many had been like his parents? Innocent civilians just trying to survive. Cooperate or die—he had delivered that blunt message more times than he cared to think about.

Still, he couldn't do anything to change what happened. This was a do-over in thought only. Reality remained. Even though he recalled all those victims, he had no idea what the true count was …

Across the dark floor they stood spread out. These were not fighters or thugs … they were men and women, sometimes family members kidnapped and tortured for extortion all for use to the Red Dragon. Their numbers rivaled the thugs inside and out of the syndicate that he had taken out.

_Has it been that many?_

“Once we were two sides of the same coin, you and I.” Vicious shook his head. “As much as I am loath to admit it—yes, these are all yours. Their blood is on your hands.”

In the blink of an eye they dropped to the floor, shot and mangled corpses. None of it should have mattered—but for some reason the days on end of viewing this had worn away. Like watching a train wreck Spike couldn't look away, they were everywhere filling his field of vision, victims of all manner of abuse. All his handiwork.

“Your conscience pulled your fangs.” Stalking forward, Vicious brandished his sword with a twisted grin. “There is no place in this world for a weak, reluctant monster.”

“Deja vu. I'd like to give you the bird, but as I remember you always had one!” Spike snapped his fingers and the Jericho appeared in his grip. “Screw your poetic asshole!” He pulled the trigger without hesitation.

The pelting of bullets only slowed Vicious's approach. His bloodshot gaze locked on Spike and he knew this was the crazed state Morpheus had chosen. Not the first time Spike had faced a deranged, Red-Eye fueled Vicious. If the plan failed to break him, it also wouldn't be the last.

Sparks flew as sword met the metal of the gun. Once more locked in the struggle, Spike pushed back against him, no breath left for sarcasm or taunts. Every molecule of oxygen went into forcing the blade away without losing a finger in the process.

Shink! The blade slid off to the side leaving a cut on his cheek. But several of Spike's bullets had punctured him leaving streams of blood. Vicious paid them no mind, bringing the blade back up with lightning swift speed. Spike kicked his hand, sending it clattering against the floor. A hard strike to his own hand loosened the grip on the gun, sending it tumbling.

Unarmed? They were never unarmed! In less than a heartbeat they switched tactics, battering one another in a rain of savage blows. Vicious fueled by the drug, Spike by desperation—he wanted to live. The blows too fast to bother tracking.

_Not reality, no consequence. This isn't my real body. Just drive through, stay on your feet! You can do this!_

He could barely spare a glance anywhere as Vicious commanded his attention. Something was different than before. The technique far more of a mixture than Vicious usually delivered. More militant, even though Vicious had been in the army on Titan—he hadn't altered his attack style. 

Then he spied it. The grin wasn't right. “Morpheus!”

In the shock, Morpheus gained the upper hand. He lunged and grappled Spike, getting behind him into a choke hold. “Oh, I'm sorry, you didn't catch when I slipped into something more  _hands on_ ? Sorry about that. Thought you were paying attention.”

Revulsion at that grating voice in his ear. Spike bucked and kicked backward, trying to wrench the choke hold loose. Even in here biological rules seemed to relentlessly apply. He still had to breathe—at least his mind was convinced he needed to.

“Don't tell me,” Morpheus's breath stirred his hair, “you didn't see this coming? I told you all I needed was time and I would break through.” Wielding him in his grip he slammed Spike's shoulder against the wall to a thunderous crack.

Spike couldn't even scream at the pain, still hardly able get a breath in against the grip across his throat. 

Morpheus laughed. “And the walls come tumbling down! Are you ready? Soon the world will see the real you.”

“Noooo!” He rasped. “Stop!”

“Why so afraid!” He slammed Spike against the wall again, cackling like mad. “How about we do something about that growing panic, shall we?” A second later a sharp prick in the side of Spike's neck stung like hell. 

He turned his head as much as the hold would allow. In the corner of his eye he glimpsed it, the plunger of a syringe. What had been in it? 

Stony debris rained down from above. Too much more and this would be over. The horizon grew dimmer. 

“I've never injected a neurotoxin into anyone inside their own consciousness before. I'll be the first to admit I have no idea what this will do to you. This will be an interesting experiment.”

Spike's eyes threatened to roll back in his head, a numbing sensation rapidly setting in. Forced to concentrate on staying conscious, he had to act fast. This was getting bad. Tangling his foot with Morpheus he tripped him, taking both their bodies down into a twisted pile. What air was left rushed out of him as Morpheus landed on top. Coughing and hacking, Spike dragged himself out from beneath, barely coordinated. “No … I'm not going to let you win.”

Snarling, Morpheus staggered to his feet. “You petulant child! You're supposed to be crippled with guilt for what you've done, battered and broken. Why won't you break!” He snapped his fingers and a syringe's plunger pulled back, refilling itself. “I wanted to let you watch as your final barrier came crumbling down, but you forced me to do this—time to take your medicine.”

Spike's shoulder against the wall was the only thing keeping him standing, he couldn't even feel it now. This was close, too close. His vision blurred in both eyes. If the shit effected his cybernetic eye—this spelled disaster! What was it doing to him out there? He swore he could hear alarms, but that would be impossible. He needed a fucking miracle now. He needed … 

Behind Morpheus a strange shimmering circle appeared. 

… That! 

Lunging forward he grabbed Morpheus's wrists and pushed back, digging his feet into the ground. Inch by inch Morpheus's feet lost ground.

“How are you finding the strength to fight back? You should be paralyzed. I've cut off everything from you!” He shouted before gritting his teeth, trying to turn the syringe in his grip at an angle for the strike.

Spike tightened his hold, the bones in Morpheus's wrist cracking until it snapped into an unnatural angle. 

Morpheus screamed and the second his wrist was released he collapsed to his knees. 

“You only think you did, you weak fucking psycho!” Spike flicked his thumb and the poker chip appeared mid air. _Two sides of the same coin? No—that one had been snapped in half ages ago._

The shocked expression on Morpheus's face was priceless, his eyes trembled.

“You forgot … fate may have made me an orphan, but I have a family!” He landed a kick square to the groin before snatching the chip out of mid-air. “That was from Faye.”

In the fetal position Morpheus's breath remained locked in his chest for a moment before he recovered enough to uncoil. His lip lifted in a snarl. “It doesn't matter. I won't let you leave here ever again! That neurotoxin is a powerful agent. You'll remain trapped in your own vortex of shame while I control your body!”

The horizon pitched again. Spike nearly lost his balance, his legs threatened to buckle leaving him to lean hard back against the wall. Was he even breathing anymore? He could no longer feel it. But he could feel the chip pressed against his palm. He had to scrape it together. The threat was real. 

The only slight victory was the higher pitch of Morpheus's voice. Clearly the blow had been powerful enough to bury his nuts in his proverbial abdomen enough that were this in the real world he'd need surgery to recover what was left of his manhood. “You can't win, Spike! Even if you can beat me now—you're weakening. Out there no one will ever believe you. ”

Pushing back to his feet, Spike took a deep breath. Time to end this. He flicked the chip up in the air taking Morpheus's gaze with it. Two could play that game. “Wrong. Here's your flaw. Your narcissistic ass stood alone.” Spike drove his fist into Morpheus's distracted face with a bone cracking force. “I am  **not** alone!”

Too late Morpheus caught a glimpse of the shimmering circle as he flew into a backward somersault. “What the … nooooo!” The force sent the syringe skidding across the floor against the base of the bastion. “You will pay for this, dearly!”

Spike fell backward colliding with the wall, he could hardly feel his own body. The world now spun violently. This shit was hitting hard as a physical concussion, God knows he'd experienced enough of those.

The moment Morpheus touched the light the effect was instantaneous, nearly faster than the sound of his alarmed scream. Like a black hole enveloping light, the shimmering void snatched him into the little pocket, compressing him into a tiny blink before it closed up into a cheezey yellow smirking icon. 

That would have earned a smile, but Spike swore he felt the wall shuddering … or was that him? His legs gave way and he slumped down against it. His eyes slowly shutting of their own accord as they took in the rubble strewn all around. Spike toppled to the side, sprawled out, barely conscious in his own mind. Bodies … countless in number, but every face a vivid memory of a life he had taken from this world. Just out of reach of the tips of his fingers where the syringe had landed … that wasn't a syringe, it was the wrong shape, round with a thin metal pin lying inches from it … 

* * *

Jet stared at the biobed screens, his celebration short lived as the alarms blared. “Ed! Tell me we got Morpheus!”

Hunched on the floor in front of her computer on the right side of Spike's bed, Ed nodded and held up a thumb drive with  _**DO NOT USE** _ written on the top. “Just desserts: A little bit of deep dish Morpheus pie.”

“Get that away from any computer!” Jet barked.

Ein leaped forward and snatched it from Ed's fingers. He held it in his mouth looking rather like he had a vape. This was only a faint salve as attention turned toward Spike.

The doctor called for the oxygen mask, the first time in a long while. Spike had been off additional oxygen for weeks, but Jet observed the drop in his stats as even his pulse dragged down. Spike's breathing had grown shallow and slow. The doctor pressed a button several times on the IV pump screen. “Come on adrenaline, kick in!”

Silently Jet swallowed down the rising panic, there was nothing he could do to assist his friend. They had seen it all play out from the moment that Ed had plugged into the wire the doctor had swiftly and covertly inserted to the micro-computer port of Spike's artificial eye that morning, a procedure that this time he had been awake, and very vocal, for. Fortunately the angle of his bed, and the mat of hair Faye had carefully pushed down over the evidence before they had left, made that small bandage over his right temple hard to see. Morpheus never noticed. Now Jet dreaded that Ed's initiation of the black hole program hadn't been fast enough, though she'd actually worked up a sweat in the process. She couldn't have gone faster if she'd tried. He placed a hand on her shoulder. “You nailed Morpheus, Ed. Good work.”

She only nodded slowly, her eyes locked on Spike.

“Doc, is he gonna be ok?” Faye hesitantly reached toward the bed, before shifting back staying out of the way.

“We haven't lost him yet.” He didn't even glance her way. “Whatever that shot was, his mind is engaged in a placebo effect. I have to wrench him out of it before it floors his vitals. Come on, Spike, fight it. Wake up.” 

A thready squeal separate from the alarms turned Jet's head. On the left side of the bed, a wide-eyed Holt stared at her own hands. “What the hell … am I … did that … was that … ahhhh!”

A nurse raced over to her and gently helped her to her feet. “Why don't you come with me, honey. Let's sort this out in a quieter room.”

“I felt him inside me!” She grabbed her hair, pulling on it enough a few strands plucked out, staring at them in horror. “What the hell was that monster?”

The nurse patted her hand. “Just a mad scientist. But he's all gone now. These nice folks trapped him. Come on, let's get you checked in.”

“Checked in?”

“Mmm hmm, you're going to be ok after a short stay here. We just need to look you over.”

As the poor shrink staggered out of the room with the nurse's aid, Jet felt sorry for her, imagining what it must have been like to have that malevolent spirit inside her head. Hell, if he gave Spike that hard of a fight as they had seen, this was no slouch. Still, he turned his attention back to Spike. Faye came to his side, trying to stay out of the way of the hustling staff. 

Spike's pulse stubbornly beat on, though every handful of beats he could tell the rate was incrementally decreasing, but at least it wasn't faltering. He wasn't down for the count. 

_Come on, Spike. Don't give up. Claw your way out of this._

Another nurse stepped forward with a long needle and handed it to the doctor as he took in a deep breath. “Ok, not the route I wanted to take, but I don't like how his pulse is still trending down. Hold him steady.”

_What are they doing?_ Jet watched and gritted his teeth as Faye grabbed onto his arm and dug her nails in. He put his other hand over hers. Ed leaned against them both and even Ein pressed against his leg. All eyes watching with worry.

The nurse lifted Spike's head with steady hands and held it straight off the pillow as the doctor carefully inserted the needle in between Spike's neck vertebrae. 

Jet's jaw tightened. A needle in the spine, that should have hurt like a son of a bitch! And yet not even a flicker of a reaction. He had no idea what had been injected, but it didn't matter. 

He delivered the payload of the syringe swiftly and withdrew the needle. “Come on, snap out of it!”

Time meant nothing over the next countless breaths, watching the oxygen mask periodically fog and clear, before Spike's eyelids began to flutter open. A crack that swiftly closed. Then another. And another. At last the lids opened wide enough to catch his dilated pupils. He groaned softly into the oxygen mask.

The doctor placed a hand on his shoulder. “Easy, you're back in reality now. Just keep breathing, deep as you can.”

Spike's brow furrowed. “ … Sen … sei?”

Jet leaned forward. “What was that?”

“Keep breathing Spike. You've really been through something. But it's all over now. We got him.” 

Coming closer, Jet came into his field of vision, about to say something, but a bleary-eyed Spike blinked up at him and cut him off. “Jet … ?”

“Yeah?”

It was a low breathy hiss, but the vehemence was palpable. “Get this fuckin' wire jack out of my eye.”

Faye and Jet laughed in unison. He carefully disconnected the feed line into Ed's computer, that window went dark. “Ok, ok, you got it pard!”

“Well,” the doctor folded his arms, “I don't think we have to ask if he remembers what happened. Give it a few more minutes for the vitals to stabilize, your pulse and breathing are a still a bit suppressed. Once those come up, I'll disconnect and surgically remove it.”

“No. Now.”

“Spike, we really need to—”

Ed pushed in front of Jet and held her fist out. “Here, Spike.”

Shakily he reached up with his left hand and she pressed the small object into his grip. He held it up, though it was lacking coordination. “What is this?”

She bounced on the balls of her bare feet. “Morpheus's little black prison box. Hold it up to your ear, you can hear him screaming.”

Wearily Spike smiled, the bruise already forming beneath his right eye. But a black eye was a small price to pay for doing the impossible.


	32. Session 32

_ **Session 32** _

The waiting room was pleasant enough, cheery floral décor with bright lighting. A home improvement show seemed to be running a marathon on the screen, Jet had already seen three of the hour long episodes since planting his ass on the blue checked sofa. Rubbing his head he sighed. He should have known it would be a long difficult day. He knew why he couldn't be in Spike's room right now, there was a perfectly legitimate reason. The longer he waited, the worse his nerves. Where were his bonsai trees when he needed something to occupy mind and hands? Back on the _Bebop_ along with the girls, where he had left them.

His eyes threatened to close on the explanation of how to properly fit a cornice piece. As if the ship had even one room joint where he could consider installing woodwork. He needed to get up and move. Maybe it was time for coffee. Then he recalled how horrid it tasted here. Hell, even Spike was capable of brewing a drinkable pot of coffee. Until tasting it here Jet had no idea it was possible to burn water.

So much for that idea.

_Now on to wallpapering. Well, that might brighten up a few of the rooms, cover the rust._ He sighed.

The door opened and a familiar face peeked around the edge. The years had not been the kindest to him, he looked a decade older in the facial lines and shocks of gray invading his chestnut brown hair. But that warm smile Jet would have known from his by-gone days at the Ganymede precinct. Jet hadn't known what to do after the latest escapade. It had been two days since black-boxing Morpheus. He was worried about Spike, about Faye, about Ed … even slightly about himself. This man was the only one he could trust, the only one with the skills and insight to see the truth.

Dr. Damian Gant entered and closed the door behind himself. They had the room to themselves as he sat down on a chair across from Jet. “Boy, sure am glad you gave me a heads-up about his shiner. That was quite impressive. I've never seen anyone with an artificial eye after someone jacked it. Didn't know it could even be done.”

Jet chuckled and scratched the back of his neck. “Ehhh yeah, we didn't either until Ed pulled it off. Twice.”

“Now after speaking to her, I'd believe it.”

“I wanted to thank you for talking to the girls earlier today.”

Damian smiled, “Of course. I'm glad I spoke with all of you. You've collectively been through a really unusual situation. Generally you have weathered it rather well. Don't worry about Ed, she seems to be coping just fine. Now that the threat is over she seems to already processed it and dealt with it. I'd give anything to be that free-spirited.”

That hardly surprised him. “And … Faye?”

At that he glanced away. “She got slammed pretty hard. But she's come to grips with what happened. Of course she's working through it still. This is a long road and I have offered future sessions to her as an option she is considering.”

“Good.” Jet heaved a sigh of relief. One serious concern down. One left. Silence stretched out. “Spike?”

Shaking his head, Damian looked into his lap. “I don't know what to tell you except to lay out what it is you are now facing. Ages ago someone taught him an extreme suppression technique. For most of his life instead of dealing with the impact of his actions, Spike walled it all away. This man you encountered at Somnus … this ghost, took a wrecking ball to those safe guards leaving your friend fractured. Now it's like having a single pane of glass between you and a monster. Once that shatters, you will be left with a choice. Lock your friend away for his own safety … or end the process that the syndicate started ages ago when they fashioned him into a sacrifice.”

“No.” It was instantaneous, Jet pounded his fist on the table. “There must be another way! He wouldn't give up, so neither will I. The safe guards, can we put them back?”

Damian exhaled, glancing up at the ceiling as if pleading for a different answer that could not come. “Not now. That would be like trying to build a dam while standing in a raging river. The only chance you have of him staying sane is to find some way to help him deal with the truth. To face the years of suppression, process everything he has turned a blind eye to, learn some other way to cope than drowning the pain in alcohol. Some men are born to slaughter without remorse. And some killers are made. Spike wasn't born a stone-cold killer. He was forged into one.”

“That's good, right?”

He bowed his head. “In a way yes, in another … no. Since he was basically still functioning despite having fully destroyed his liver, it means that the trauma runs deep and he has yet to begin dealing with it. Someone deliberately twisted him for a purpose. Syndicate methods are abysmal, I have seen the results in many of my patients. I have no doubt you will be disturbed by what you hear … and in the process he will be left writhing from the wounds you have forced him to acknowledge.”

“Are we better off just letting things go?”

“There is no way you can. That course has been set and cannot be stopped now. Though he tried to deflect and cover them. I know what I saw, the psychological ticks are already showing. He's silently struggling as this drowns him. Either you go with him into the deep dark pit … or abandon him.”

No. That was not what he wanted to hear. The words carved a hollow in his gut. Jet's eyes slowly fell to the floor as he found his hands supporting his head. He'd called Damian because the man would be honest with him. He knew he could trust his assessment, he would see the bald faced truth. But now that he heard the diagnosis he wished he hadn't asked. Ignorance—bliss. “We can't … no, I refuse to abandon him.”

A hand reached across the table and touched his shoulder. “I was hoping you would say that. But I had to be honest with you. He's going to need a lot of support through what's going to happen. The collapse has begun, beneath his attempts to deflect my questions and hid the truth, he's flailing but he refuses to ask for help.”

“Yeah, that's Spike for you.” Something didn't make sense, no matter how Jet turned it around in his mind. “Why would a syndicate do this? Why would they cripple someone like this?”

Rubbing his chin, Damian sat back once more staring at the ceiling. “It isn't crippling from their perspective, quite the opposite. Men like Spike were not intended to have normal lifespans. Consider this, if someone valued their life and the lives of others how would it effect them to actively seek out and kill another man?”

There was a long silence as Jet turned the question around in his head. An average human being would be appalled or likely paralyzed by the notion, unless doing it for a good reason. Morality and the conscience stood in the way. But for a man to repeatedly carry out hits he couldn't hesitate, he couldn't hold value in anything but—service.

The sacrifice. Spike returning to answer Vicious's challenge. Shit—it all made sense now.

“By your expression I think you grasp my point.”

Jet opened his eyes to find he was looking at his fists. “Yeah, I get it. Don't like it, but I get it. Without that he wouldn't have survived past the first kill. From what I understood he had been highly effective. But he changed. Right before I met him, he chose to abandon that life.”

“That doesn't mean he's faced any of this. Trust me, the evidence is obvious. What Morpheus dredged to the surface and the manner in which he did so amounted to extreme psychological torture. Most would have snapped already, and yet for the moment Spike is clinging to the last shreds of his calm facade. But we have to be prepared—that won't last.”

The door opened and the doctor who had been largely managing Spike's case entered and shut it behind him. The two glanced at one another and nodded.

Damian met Jet's worried stare. “We've already spoken and agreed about what is best for him.”

The doctor nodded. “Now that he's no longer … uhhh … ” he executed air quotes, “ … facing possession … I'll be doing my best to fast track him to get out of here.”

“It's been determined that he'll recover best in a place where he feels safe. And since he feverishly begged to go home, we both assumed that home was the _Bebop_.”

“Of course.” Jet nodded. “But I can't handle his care on life support.”

“Oh don't worry, we'll get him through all that. He'll be stable before we send him off.”

Damian held out a hand, the doctor put a small box into it. “Along with this.”

He handed it to Jet. “What is it?”

“Something … I **really** hope you don't have to use.”

* * *

Spike reclined in his bed with a weary smile as Jet walked into the room. For some strange reason Jet seemed more ruffled than Spike felt at the moment. That notion seemed humorous given the grilling that he'd just endured. Earlier, the moment that Damian Gant wandered into the room he knew him for what he was. Another frickin' shrink.

What did he expect? That Spike was just going to gush it all out, all teary eyed and snot nosed? Not hardly. What he harbored was nobodies business. All the more reason why the hacking of his eye's micro-computer bothered him so much. Memories, everything that eye had ever seen was concealed within it, and crossed with older memories that had melded through organic though processes. Though it had been a prototype, the little machine was highly sophisticated.

Jet pointed at Spike's right eye and forced a chuckle. “Wow, that got dark quick.”

“Stuff near the eye tends to bruise easily.” He shrugged. “You know this is hardly my first shiner, at least it's not swollen shut.”

“True.”

Something was wrong. Jet's speech was clipped, he kept glancing away as sweat collected on his brow. He was usually rock solid. What could have rattled him? Spike cleared his throat. “So uhhh … the doc was in here a bit ago. Told me the good news. Looks like this damn feeding tube is finally gonna get pulled in a few days. Then I get to actually eat again.” His eyes rolled back at the thought. “Really looking forward to some bell peppers and beef.”

Jet nodded absently. “Yeah, that'll be good.”

“So, can I con you into sneaking some in? I doubt the hospital food will be anything like your cooking. Least that's how Faye described it.”

He did a double take, “Oh uh, yeah. Sure, I can try.”

There it was, an eye flick to his own pocket. Something in it other than a pack of cigarette and a lighter.

That agitated another itch. Spike grimaced, wanting a smoke something fierce. Soon, a bit more patience and he could smoke like a damn chimney! At least there was light at the end of this bloody long tunnel. Back on the _Bebop_ that's where he would be before long. All this crap left in the past. Just like before.

Keep moving, leave it buried in the ground behind. That's how it worked. When it threatened to rise its ugly head, the nectar in the bottle could sooth it back to sleep.

Speaking of sleep, it seemed that Jet might have fallen asleep standing up. “Hey pard, you there?”

The reaction was delayed. “Yeah. Sorry, a lot is on my mind. I'm gonna need to run, the girls and I have some errands.”

“You just got here …. well whatever. Must be nice.” Spike half closed his eyes, muttering, “Able to go out and about. I miss that.”

“Soon enough you'll join us.” Did his voice just crack? Slowly he turned and waved as he made for the door with a half hidden haste. The door shut behind him.

“Ahh well … so now it's just me and my little pinwheel.” Spike stared at the motionless decoration at the end of his bed. Rather useless, he couldn't make it spin from here. Not even if he took a deep breath and blew it out with all his might, in sheer boredom he had tried—though he'd never admit it. Still, the gesture of the pinwheel was so thoughtful of Ed. He knew without asking it had to have been her.

With a sigh, Spike closed his eyes and forced himself to relax. _Soon enough, I'll be coming home to stay._


	33. Session 33

_ **Session 33** _

Changes were good, finally! Spike didn't even care about the procedure earlier this morning, at least it had been a local, no need to knock him out. The moment he could, he pumped his left fist in the air and celebrated being free of that damn feeding tube! There were still other rather critical attachments, after all he couldn't get out of bed yet. But that benchmark meant the time was swiftly approaching, if he'd have anything to do with it. They'd already started a few rudimentary stretches to begin moving his wasted muscles. It was going to be a bit, but once he was up he would start working on martial arts routines he knew would hasten rebuilding critical muscle tone.

Oh yeah. He was ready. _More_ than ready.

Faye leaned against the door frame, a crooked grin on her face. “Well now, what's that smile about?”

“The nurse went to get my breakfast … damn this is the longest I have gone without eating. I can't wait to taste something!”

She lifted an eyebrow, running a nail in the fold of her jacket.

“I swear, I'm gonna eat so much I'll put weight back on in no time.”

The nurse slipped past Faye with a covered tray in her hand. She set it down on the table and pushed it closer to him. Then swiftly made an exit.

Ehh, not that Spike cared. He didn't particularly want an audience. “What is it? A burger, pizza, stir fry, bell peppers and beef?” He yanked the lid off and instantly the smile dashed from his face. He stared at a tiny bowl of … digging the spoon in he lifted it and let the contents plop back in. “What the hell? Boiled grains?”

Faye tried not to laugh, but failed as she wandered over to the chair, blushing a bit. “Yeah … that's the reason I came today. I had a feeling you would be … disappointed.”

“What is this? It's barely anything! This is like the stuff Jet uses to seal around pipes and duct work!Where's my food?”

Sitting down she leaned forward. “It's hard to believe, but you're going to be lucky if you can finish that much. You have to start slow.”

“The hell I do!” He grumbled. “I never start slow! Never started slow in my life! I want my damn burger, now!”

“Give it time. That would make you sick.”

“Bullshit!” He held up the bowl and eyed it, squinting his shiner at it. “Ein's food bowl is bigger. The volume of a can of dog food is greater.”

Somehow Faye kept a soft smile plastered on her face. “I thought you were excited about eating.”

“If I actually got real food. How do they expect me to rebuild muscle without protein?”

“Spike.”

“What!”

“Your porridge is getting cold.” She started to giggle into her hands.

He scowled at her. “It's not funny.”

“I'm not laughing at you, I'm laughing with you.”

He stabbed the slop with the spoon and muttered, “I ain't laughing.” Ramming it into his mouth he mushed it around before swallowing. He stared into the bowl and sighed. “Not even much of a flavor.” But still, another mouthful went in. Hunger was the most powerful spice after all.

Sitting back, Faye grinned as he made a fresh complaint after every mouthful. He didn't trust the expression on her face. She was waiting for something. And he didn't like that prospect one bit. Nor the fact that he wasn't certain what that even was.

“Least they could have done was put some fruit in it … or … phew … ” Spike took a deep breath, blinking as he noted several spoonfuls still remained in the bowl, but something was wrong. He felt strange … he felt … no, couldn't be.

Full?

Faye reached out and took the bowl from him, setting it aside she moved the table away and sat on the edge of his bed taking his hand in hers. “I thought you wouldn't have remembered my first days after the tube was removed. The stomach shrinks. It can't take as much, and everything needs to start bland. Yes, this phase sucks. But you have to be patient.”

He met her gaze and it surprised him. There was no mockery, no sass, no reaping the joy of his situation. She was sincere.

She reached out and ran her hand along Spike's jawline. “You're gonna be ok, big guy. You just need to let this run its course. Soon you'll have to get to work on walking again.”

He shuddered a bit at that thought. Every muscle ached from the earlier physical therapy. He had several of those delightful torture sessions. It didn't matter that he knew what he was in for, in fact, that likely made it worse. He knew how atrophied he had become.

With a laugh through her nose, Faye lifted a shoulder. “It's embarrassing: needing help, being supported by straps and stuff so you don't fall. But it gets easier. The strength and balance comes back.”

He knew … but he didn't interrupt her. He just stared as she bared the experience. Shit … she'd been through it. Spike had watched her, egged her on. He felt the shiver passed through her as she placed a hand on her knee. Was she still struggling to appear steady? Was she still rebuilding her own strength?

Heat rose to Spike's cheeks as he turned to look out the window to the bright shimmering bay beyond. He didn't want to talk about recovery. Something else, anything else! “Faye … is the _Bebop_ visible from here?”

Without hesitation she nodded and stood, wandering over to the window. She pointed to a break between two tall buildings. Floating on the water was a familiar bow, just the point of it. No wonder Spike had missed her in the cluttered docks.

Clearing her throat, Faye remained in silhouette. “Jet and Ed are going to come up later today.”

He nodded, suddenly this whole thing was awkward. Maybe it was because what little he had managed to get in him wasn't sitting well. He shut his eyes silently cursing how once again, Faye had been right. Of course she had. She'd been through this shit recently. His hand resting against the thick edge of his bandages reminded him that this time his recovery was anything but normal. Another part of him was no longer … original.

Slowly, she drifted back across the room, toward the door.

“Hey … ” It left him before he could stop it. Darting a brief glance up at her he sought refuge in the window. The words hard to force out. “Would you … stay here for a bit?”

The edge of his bed shifted down as Faye sat on it. Her hand covered the back of his, fingers threading between his. “Sure.”

He heaved a sigh of relief. Countless obnoxious remarks wandered through his mind—he dismissed every one of them as unworthy of this strong, brave woman. That simple contact, her hand against his—he needed it more than he had the words to express why. So, they sat in silence, watching Alba city moving about the day.

* * *

Jet's shadow fell into the room. A scowl marked his face as he reached for the light switch. The moment it turned on his monumental task became apparent.

The _Bebop's_ resident bachelor had left quite the mess. It's not like there were dirty dishes or hoarded food packets. It wasn't filthy, more like … cluttered. This room wasn't one Spike'd spent much time in, and so over the course of the years he had more or less dumped stuff here. Alcohol stashes, cigarettes, ammunition, guns, bomb building supplies. He had some spare clothing flung about.

He heaved a sigh and ran a hand over his neck. When Spike returned to the ship he was going to need a quiet place to finish his recovery, and they were going to need the room to be able to tend to him, after all the incision would still be healing. Spike would be mobile, but not incredibly so. For the most part he had to be careful not to irritate things.

Hands on his hips he whistled with purpose.

In a scampering six pairs of metallic feet raced toward him joined by a pair of bare feet and a set of paws. Soon Jet found himself flanked by the Six Pack on one side and Ed with Ein on the other—she was armed with a bucket and a mop … the bucket on her head.

“Alright. We have to get this place cleaned out. First things first, I want everything out of the room, bring it into the hallway. Be careful!”

He swore the compys saluted him. Odd little things. He turned to Ed, “Ok, you're in charge until I get back with some crates.”

“Crate wait, squeaky gate. Trespass, green grass, clean your—”

“Ed.” Jet eyed her.

She held up an empty beer bottle. “Glass.”

He shook his head and clomped away. Would he ever understand her? Still, she brought so much amusement to the ship. He hadn't noticed until that span of time she'd been missing, run off to be left on Earth. Somehow, when he'd returned to hunt her down her she was sitting on the roof of a crumbling building waiting for him as if she had known.

Well of course she had known. This was Ed! She'd probably been tracking the ship the whole time. For some reason she was happy here. This place was home for her. As much her home as it was his.

Back in storage he emptied a couple of crates and stacked them. These would have to do for now, and he hoped Spike would understand and not get too pissed that they had messed with his stuff. It didn't matter, hurt feelings or not, this had to be done. Missing just one thing in this clean out could prove tragic.

Carting the crates back through the corridors he entered the quarters hall and almost dropped them. Out in the hall, neatly stacked and organized was _everything_ ! Absolutely everything! The shelf, the books, the weapons, even the mattress **and** the pallet had been removed. Two compys exited the room carrying one of the metal wall panels.

“Whoa whoa whoa! I said everything in the room— _not_ the room itself! Put the panel back!” Luckily that was a simple solid metal one and not one with controls attached to it. “Ed, why did you let them … ?”

When he came to the door he stared in to find Ed swishing the mop around on the floor that hadn't been cleared and cleaned in years. Surprisingly it wasn't that bad. Then again, Spike had rarely been in here so it was mainly just dust. Ed sung into the mop like a microphone. “Clean and sweep! Clean and Sweep! Tidy as a home! Bebop ship, Bebop ship, carry me into the stars! Weeeee!”

From inside the storage space beneath the removed bed pallet, Ein planted his paws on the edge and peered out, smiling at him. Jet shook his head and left Ed as she started to mop the walls down. He had to sort this mess out.

Qi stepped forward and placed his claws on a full bottle sticking out of a case of sake, his eyed flicking down to it and back up to Jet.

“Yeah. You know the drill. You and your crew, gather all the bottles up and take them to the hanger for me.”

They chirruped and dug into the stack, hauling them away.

Good, one less thing for him to have to directly deal with. In a way he felt guilty. He had ordered the Six Pack to this task for one primary reason. Spike could focus his anger in them when it came down to it. Jet figured it was easier to repair a robot than a broken neck.

He picked up the easy decisions off the floor and tucked them into the crate. Any weapons from blades to guns, ammo to C-4, all of it went mercilessly into the crate. Just for now. This he wasn't disposing of, just removing it from arms reach. Spike could be rather foul tempered while healing.

His hand closed around the grip of a gun, pulling up the weight of it. Slowly he held it and his throat tightened. Spike's old trusty Jericho. This gun has seen action and bore the scars to prove it. Groves and scratches from deflecting bullets and blades itself. This gun had been his choice for most runs. And Jet could feel why. It had a heft to it. He pulled the unloaded mag and checked out the diameter. He should have known the caliber, but for some reason he'd never really paid attention.

No. He slammed the mag back home. This gun wouldn't go into storage. Carefully, Jet tucked it in his pocket for safekeeping. By the time he finished picking up all the gear he realized Spike must have been hoarding several sizable blocks of C-4 under his bed pallet.

What kind of a guy slept over plastic explosives?

He rolled his eyes. “Spike would.”

Bottles dealt with. Weapons packed away. Now the rest of it.

First Jet evicted Ein from the room before he reinstalled the bed pallet over the now empty compartment. Replacing the mattress he left the sheets and blanket out in the hall for a good laundering. The last Spike had used them was a rare moment of seeking solitude during his recovery after Pluto, so they weren't bad, just dusty.

“Now for the rest of his stuff.” He glanced out in the hall. A pile of books, his clothes, cases of cigarettes, and the ornately carved little box that Ein snuffled around and sneezed.

Ed came up beside him and pointed. “Ooo lala, Ein says it smelly, like flowers. What was that?” She met the dog's eyes for a moment.” Ohhh … gotcha, like ickly prickly roses.”

Kneeling down, Jet picked the box up and sniffed. His eyes widened. It did smell like roses! Rose perfume. He didn't open it again, knowing the photos inside. But still, he had missed the scent earlier when looking for the chip.

“Uhhh, hey, Ed? Why don't you put his books back up on the shelf, ok?”

She grabbed a couple of them and giggled. “Faye-Faye says Spike can't read. But she's wrong. Spike reads a lot when she's not looking. Books with big words. Faye-Faye got schooled a bit ago, though.”

Distantly Jet listened to her prattling on as he sorted Spike's clothes, folding the clean ones and tossing the others into a pile for the laundry. He would need comfortable, soft clothes back on the ship at first. Clean would be better.

“Yup, Spike dropped a big ol' thick book in Faye-Faye's lap and told her he had mesmerized it. Something about war and painting stuff.”

Jet stiffened, hands frozen in mid sort. “The Art of War. Ed, do you know where his edition is?”

“Course.” She pointed down the hall. “In Faye-Faye's quarters. Spike-person let her steal it. She hasn't given it back. But she reads it, sometimes late at night when everyone else is sleeping.”

That just about blew his mind. “How long ago was this?”

Ed giggled. “Long time ago. Faye-Faye is only half way done, but that's cause she's hiding it. She thinks Spike-person doesn't know she has it. But he does. He's so sneaky he tricked her into taking it.”

“Well, I'll be damned.”

“Damn damn damn!” She burst into song.

Rolling his eyes, Jet gathered up the rest of the laundry. “Ok, this place looks good for now. Come on out, close the door behind you.”

“Come on, Ein. Time to do the laundry!”

“Oh no. You're not doing the laundry.”

She raced along. “Why not?”

“Because the last time you did everything came out orange.” Jet eyed her. “Considering that nothing in that load had been orange in the first place there is no way I am letting you run the machine again.”

“Eeehhhhheeeee!” She did a cartwheel. “Spike-person was right. Best way to no longer be asked to do something.”

“What is?” He asked wearily.

“Screw it up. It's why Spike burns all the food.”

Jet burst into laughter. “That's what he told you? No, Spike actually can't cook. Trust me—I watched him legitimately try. He's a total bachelor.”

“What's a bachelor?”

“A single guy.” Jet put the bedding into the washer first.

“That's weird … who would want a pair of Spikes?”

“Tck!” Just about to push the start button, Jet froze from her unexpected interpretation, before palming his face and moaning.


	34. Session 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Luck_Kazajian's work "End of Watch 9/3/2073", which is based off Somnus, is now complete! Check out the riveting story of one of Morpheus's prior victims mentioned in this tale, Jack "Colt" Rackham.

_ **Session 34** _

The container was still warm in Jet's hand as he approached the room. He'd gotten permission from the doctor this morning as a special treat for how hard Spike had been working of late. A little incentive. Over the last days they had removed most of the tubes from him and spent multiple sessions each day working his wasted muscles. Each day inched closer to breaking out of this joint. He was eating again, and had gotten past the bland stages.

It was time for some serious protein. It was time for something special. It was time for something more substantial.

Jet grinned down at the container. Spike would be thrilled to see this. At his side, Ed rubbed her hands together in anticipation. This would make Spike's day and they'd see a true smile for once in a long while.

Pushing open the door, Jet held out the container, “Guess what Spi—” Immediately his voice faltered, his hands still presenting.

Faye sat on the edge of the bed, she held a finger to her lips. Slowly she slid her gaze down to Spike. He lay with the side of face smashed against the pillow, a drop of drool from his open mouth. His position a bit awkward, as if someone had dropped him like a rag doll. He was clearly out cold.

Padding closer, Ed cocked her head as she studied him. She kept her voice down, “Sleepy-Spike is leaking.”

She offered Ed a soft smile, it was then that Jet realized Faye's hand was preoccupied with massaging Spike's left shoulder. “He's ok, he's just really worn out. He worked very hard today.”

Dancing on the balls of her feet Ed pointed at the floor. “Did he get up?”

Somberly, she shook her head. “Not yet. But he tried.” She locked eyes with Jet. “Against the therapist's wishes he sure as hell tried to stand up. But even with help he didn't quite make it. He has a number of more sessions before he'll have the strength for that.”

“Nyyoooooo.”

On a counter across the room Jet noted the pile of support straps had grown from before. They'd had to be careful how they rigged things to avoid his incision and work around the broken arm. But they couldn't risk him falling. Just getting him into a seated position on the side of the bed had been quite the process.

Entering the room, Jet came closer watching Spike's panted breaths marking his sheer exhaustion. Even his brow was furrowed. The gesture felt awkward now as he stared down at the container. “I brought the bell peppers and beef for him. Freshly cooked. It's even still warm.”

Faye didn't stop massaging through the thin fabric of the shirt. “I'm sure they can reheat it when he wakes up. But don't expect that to be anytime soon. He really overdid it. They even canceled the rest of his sessions for today. There were supposed to be two more short ones but lunkhead decided to push it and blew everything he had in one shot. They think he pulled a muscle or two. I have to agree, there's a lot of heat here.” She glanced at where she was rubbing.

He set the container down on the wheeled table and flomped into the chair. Spike didn't so much as twitch. There was no doubt he'd passed out, and recently too. Somehow it didn't surprise him. This was rather like Spike. “Faye, what was he doing?”

“Trying to get home.” Still moving her fingers in slow circles, she glanced at Jet. “All they wanted was to have him sit up on the edge and stay there for a bit, giving his core a decent workout. And do you think Spike would settle for that?” She shook her head. “Nope. While the therapist watched and pleaded with him to stop he tried to stand up, pulling on the aid with this arm. I'm pretty sure I can tell you the moment he yanked something. His eyes snapped shut with a hiss, but still he kept trying. He didn't get far before his was spent. I don't think he was even awake when they undid the straps. The fact is there just isn't enough muscle tone at the moment but that didn't stop him from giving the therapist a stroke.”

For the first time she stopped massaging and reached back, lifting the edge of the covers to expose Spike's legs. The pajama bottoms outlined what little was there. He'd been bed-ridden too long. The damage was undeniable.

Rudely Ed stared and was about to poke at one of the fabric folds when Faye guided her hand away and pulled the covers back down. “No, honey. He's _really_ sore. Just let him rest. I promise, he's getting better. This is just going to take time and far more patience than he possesses.”

Inside Jet's stomach churned until he had to look away.

“But this is Spike.” Faye continued, “You know him, the moment he can he'll be doing drills non-stop, getting back to his top form. Right Jet?”

Slowly, he looked over at her. “Yeah.” It was all he could get out. He couldn't force a smile like Faye was as she reached out and tenderly cupped Ed's chin.

The girls locked eyes as Faye assured her, “Then we'll all be out there chasing bounties again.”

That was a problem … not the chasing bounties part, but the money. The bills were really adding up. But at the moment, his heart wasn't in the case. He hated to ask Faye. As it was …

“Faye, you uhh … you still talking to Damian?”

She reached up and retucked her hair behind her headband, a nervous tick that Jet had noticed. “We had a session yesterday. I'm doing ok.” A twitch of a smile. “I uhhh … ” she flicked her eyes at Ed, “tell you later, kay?”

He nodded.

“You?”

His fingers wove together in an idle pattern. He hadn't expected her to ask. “Yeah. This morning.” After a session with his bonsai trees hadn't had the meditative effect he had hoped for. “Damian says he thinks it's cause we're used to being more mobile. We've had years of flitting about the system, chasing bounties. We're not used to being tethered to one place for any length of time. And since we can't take off until … ” he pointed at Spike and sighed, “I guess I got the blues.”

Leaning forward Faye tapped a finger to her chin. “You know, that gives me an idea. Maybe that's what we need.”

“What?”

“A trip to a club. You and me, we got the blues. How about we exorcise our souls with a little music?”

Jet rubbed the back of his neck. “I don't know … I mean … ”

“Oh come on, you big wet blanket. Let's get off the ship and enjoy an evening of entertainment. Spike isn't going to know. He needs to rest anyway.” She leaned in closer and whispered into his ear, “We can even imbibe.”

His eyes rolled involuntarily. Yes, he craved that. He had practically quit cold turkey and that bird was pecking at him with a vengeance!

Her smile intensified in that way he couldn't resist. “You know you want to.”

“Fine, fine. Yeah. We can go. But after a bit. In case he wakes up.”

Who was he kidding. Spike wasn't shifting in the scent of food, clearly he was down for the count.

* * *

Framed by the old brick and mortar wall, up an the stage an old man in a vintage style suit bowed his head over the keys of the piano. Pure mood poured forth, a balm for the soul as he was accompanied by a small band.

Blues, the melody of the wounded heart. And tonight, the Cobalt Cat Bar was packed elbow to elbow with many in search of solace.

At a tall circular table lit by a jar candle Jet nursed a whiskey on the rocks, rattling the dwindling cubes in the glass as he rested his forehead in his prosthetic hand. Leaning back in the chair, with one arm over the back of it, Faye held a half drunk martini largely ignoring it as she tapped her foot to the rhythm of the music. Secretly she stole glances at Jet. Never in all her time on the _Bebop_ had it taken so much effort to get Jet to hang at a bar. In the space between he had changed his mind no less than five times.

It was clear the poor guy needed it. If she was honest with herself, Faye needed it too. She had spent the better part of this day deciding on where. A regular bar wasn't the right tactic. Jet didn't need to open up to a bar keeper, he needed a place to just let things go. Regular concerts weren't his thing—though Faye could sit through an opera and retain her sanity, she figured that the last thing he would need now was having to dress up in a tux. Even though she had to admit he cut a stunning image in one. A jazz hall had been an option, but it was too much energy. Spike may have been the one struggling to rebuild his strength, but the whole crew was worn down by the recent events. Blues … the moment that idea hit her she knew it was the right fit. They needed to just sink down into the empathetic music of a live band with a comforting drink and let the magic cast its spell.

There was something about the familiar haze of the smokey bar where every patron was wandering through their own memories aided by the skilled fingers on the piano, guitars, sax, and drums. This was a perfect place to willfully get lost in.

She closed her eyes and drifted on the music letting it mix with the slow burn of the martini in her veins and the puff of smoke from her cigarette. It'd been a hard couple of days lately with a lot of pent up frustration. Not only her own. There it was, the knot in her shoulder building. She was carrying some of Spike's with her. In an exhale of smoke she willed it away. After all, there was only a limited effect she could have on his outcome—the actual steps of his journey were his own.

The table vibrated as Jet set his glass down a bit hard. His hand splayed in the middle of his bald head. He looked like a drunk, but one whiskey was hardly enough to belt that man, especially on the rocks. She'd been drinking with him enough to know that.

“What's the music saying to you?”

Ever so slightly he peered up at her and grumbled, “Welcome to rock bottom.”

Taking a sip of her martini she smiled. “You know what they say about that.”

He shook his head.

“There's only one way things can look from there.” The moment Jet lifted his head out of his hand, she pointed up. “Take it easy, big guy. We're almost out of the woods.”

He chuckled wryly. “You have been talking to Damian so much lately you sound like him.”

“You're right on one thing.” She tapped the ash off her cigarette. “I've been talking. But he's been worried.”

“Well, you had a lot going on.” Twisting the glass in the air, the blunted edges of the ice cubes rattled as they mixed with the slight tint of whiskey.

“Not about me.”

Out of the corner of her eyes she caught his fingers nearly slipping on the glass. He set it down with extreme care before pointing at himself.

She nodded. “Relax, he didn't tell me anything specific. But he said you'd been fussing about something.”

Rolling his eyes he lit a fresh cigarette. “So, **that's** why we're here on an adults only trip.”

“You caught me. Also figured that like me you could use a little nip.” Faye held up her glass. “You know, **we** can live a little. Just cause Spike has to lay off the sauce doesn't mean we need too.”

He stared at the floor, one hand forming a fist. “You know the guy. If there's even one drop … ”

“He'll find it. Yeah, you got a point. But still, that's not it,” she looked at him sideways, “is it.”

The skin around his eye plate creased.

Faye touched his hand, it was clammy. “You're not a horse, Jet. So, why the long face?”

Not even the hint of a smile, but he at least lifted his eyes and stared at the stage's spot lights competing with the neon glow of the blue cat sign. “How did we get here, Faye? I was just a retired detective coasting about the solar system in an old ship chasing the next score. No plans, no scheme, no … anything. Never once did I consider that I'd find a damn thing. I was just gonna drift until I died, lost in life because let's face it, all the pieces of my world walked out the door. I had nothing waiting for me. And then, out of the damn blue … ”

“ … you stumbled upon Spike.”

He sighed and downed the last gulp, more water than whiskey made apparent by the face he pulled. “Yeah.” He pushed the glass to the edge of the table. “A bloodshot-eyed drift bum laid out on a dive bar … he was more lost than I was. But somehow he wouldn't admit it. That day though … everything changed. He was my constant partner, albeit sometimes a pain the ass. Everything I did meant more with someone else there. Sure, he took risks, yet he always came back. And slowly, the rest of you came.” Staring at their hands he flipped his over and grasped hers. “Ed's right—we've become a family. I don't know how, I don't know precisely when … but the ship isn't right if even one of us is gone.”

“He'll be back on the ship soon. You'll see. That's the thing. He's pushing himself to get the clearance to return. I know he slept through the day, but no one was surprised by that. Think about it, he spent most of his time napping on the couch. How was that out of the ordinary?” The fact was, she knew. Before it had been a choice. At the moment he was struggling—hard.

Jet took a long drag off the cigarette and held his breath before releasing the smoke. He watched it rise. “Everything is different now … in Somnus, what Morpheus did … ” his fist tightened, “a family with Alisa. For a moment I held that dream, I lived it. I never realized how much I truly desired … not to be alone.”

Unable to subdue the shiver, Faye forced a somber smile. “No one wants to be alone. But the fact is, we aren't now. We don't have to be.” A pit threatened to reopen in her gut, she swallowed down the growing panic. This is what Damian told her she needed to do. Taking a deep breath she stubbed out her cigarette and folded her hands, staring into them. “What that asshole dragged us through … he opened a Pandora's box none of us wanted to acknowledge we were carrying. We've all got regrets … some of us had choices,” she gripped her arm and bowed her head, “some of us didn't. But we can't go back. We can't change it. Alisa is gone … my parents and the world that I grew up in are a thing of the unreachable past.”

When she looked up Jet was watching her. “Or is it? … Truth is … are we really over it?”

She lowered her eyes. “Will we ever be?”

A waitress paused at the table and picked up Jet's glass, holding it up with a raised eyebrow.

He nodded and held up two fingers.

Releasing her breath as he signaled for a double, Faye polished off her martini and handed the glass over. “Hit me again, too, would you?” The moment they were alone she lit another cigarette. “Looks like we're in for a long night. Good thing we left the Red Tail and Hammerhead in the hanger.”

Jet leaned back and gave a wry smile. “Or else we might be landing in the hospital. Hey … Faye … thanks, I uhhh, I think I needed this.”

Leaning back in her chair she watched the tendrils drift up. “I think we might need to make this regular for a while. And the lunkhead doesn't need to know.” They sank down into the night, drinking in the music and balm of alcohol. A common shoulder to lean against. A new routine of healing.

* * *

“You can do it, Spike!”

If he'd had the breath to spare he would have screamed at Faye to leave the damn room. But all of Spike's breath was tied up in keeping from passing out. Sweat matted his hair down as he stood, as he had been for days now, fighting toward the Goddamned pathetic goal! All he had to do was make it to the end of the long set of balance bars. It couldn't get too much more embarrassing. With his right arm confined to a sling, he only had one arm to use for balance. Straps had been rigged overhead to make certain when the inevitable failure of his weak-ass legs happened, he wouldn't hit the floor. That trick had taken a while to figure out, because they had to avoid his bandaged gut. Behind him, hanging onto the straps, was a burly aid that looked to Spike like a walking mountain. Well, at this point anything compared to Spike was substantial.

Still, it took everything he had just to lift his foot and stagger one step forward. Every scant fiber of his leg muscles burned, begging for him to stop. But he ignored their complaints and pushed on.

_All I have to do it make it to the end of these rails and I can go … that's it._

The therapist prattled on beside him, in a slow lock step to his pathetic progress. “Take it easy. One at a time. Don't worry if you don't make it today.”

_I'm making it today. I've already been at this pathetic goal for days now. Screw staying any longer. Even babies can walk. I fucking can too!_

His knee gave out. Spike white-knuckled the rail with a hiss of frustration as the strap system caught him before he could hit the floor. Walking was difficult to begin with. Getting back upright from here? He hadn't been able to do it. Hanging his head he cursed beneath the breath he couldn't waste.

“It's ok.” She gestured to the mountain of a man behind him. “Let's call it for the day.”

“ … No … ” Spike growled and glared up through the top of his eyes. “I'm … doing … this.” He huffed out each word.

Just in his periphery Faye marched to the end of the bars and stood directly in front. He had over halfway to go yet, it seemed so impossibly far. “You're not alone, Spike. Come on, if I could beat this bullshit, you can too.”

The therapist gawked. “Whoa, hold on! We … ”

With a grunt Spike hauled himself in an awkward lift against the bar. He wished he had two functional hands, but his right arm was still healing. He'd attend to restrengthening that later once it was out of this damn cast. His gut ached, his legs shuddered beneath him. Full collapse felt imminent. 

_Fuck this shit. I ain't letting gravity win!_

Inhaling a deep breath he had to shut his eyes tight against the pain, but with a jerky effort he fumbled one step forward. Then another. And another. He fought hard for each minute victory.

His lungs burned from the torture, his sweaty palm threatened to slip in the hold against the bar. The therapist was audibly shitting bricks, but Spike ignored her every word. He was done with being bedridden. Done with being a damn invalid. The only way to restrengthen atrophied muscles was to work them.

The horizon tilted in a blur as he opened his eyes. He wanted to cry out from the complaints in his betraying muscles. But he steeled himself, biting it back. The voice of his sensei lecturing in his mind.

_Pain is a burden. It will try to cripple you. The drill today—stand still take the strikes, push through. In the heat of a battle, one hitch could cost you your next breath. You can't breathe if you die!_

Walking only hurt—it couldn't kill him. Spike forced his next deep inhale and opened his eyes. Down the balance bars Faye stared at him. “You giving up? I can't believe you're gonna let my record stand over you.”

He narrowed his glare and staggered forward. With each step his knees threatened to drop his weight. He forced the complaining joint to lock. Of course that was a bad strategy. But all he could think of was a longer stint here. All he wanted was to be back on the ship, lying on the couch, staring up at the cursed fan. Ein pestering him with a ball he wanted thrown for fetch. Ed sprawled on the back of the couch like a damn cat. Faye leaving fruit rinds on his half awake face. Jet calling out from the galley stating what was for dinner. He wanted to go back.

_I'm …_

Step.

… _going …_

Step.

… _home._

Each shambling, shaking step drew him closer to **that** goal.

“Spike really,” Faye planted a hand on her hip, “you're nothing but a loser!”

The therapist shrieked, “What are you doing?”

He glared at Faye, forcing the next steps. The sweat drenching his hospital clothes threatened to dehydrate him. Damn this felt like a marathon, but it wasn't that far. Just the width of a therapy room. Maybe a hundred feet at most?

Like some slug he inched his way in a half stagger, half drag. The straps took his weight more than once but he refused to stop. Refused to quit on the limbs that burned feverishly from the punishment.

His eyes clamped shut. He had no idea how close he was, he kept going even as his foot tried to roll.

Stumbling forward he lost his balance and the grip on the bar failed to hold him. His left shoulder halted the downward collapse as something caught in his underarm. The straps slackened slowly as they settled his heaving body down on the cool floor. Someone held a water bottle to his lips and he sucked it down greedily. A cool, damp cloth wiped over his face.

Everything hurt like hell. He was on the damn floor, his hand pumping into a fist.

After a few minutes of gasping for air he cracked his eyes open to find Faye grinning down at him. She slowly lifted her gaze above his head. When he followed it, he blinked. Was that the end of the bar?

She wrung out a cloth into a bowl and ran it over his forehead, sweet relief. “You did it, Spike. You made it.”

He was passing out … but yeah … he'd done it. He wanted to smile, but there just wasn't enough left, something was more important. Exhaustion was dragging him down. But … he'd done it. “I … can … go … home … now … right?”


	35. Session 35

_ **Session 35** _

This was hardly the first time that Jet was forced to sort out how to get Spike down the living room stairs, his left arm slung over a shoulder, most of his body next to useless. Dressed in a pair of sweatpants and an old t-shirt, Spike's right arm hung useless in a sling, the rest of his body draped heavily off Jet. But he had to give the guy credit, he was trying to walk.

Huffing like an old windbag, it took Spike what seemed like forever for each step. His head hung and if he said anything at all it was hard to discern through clenched teeth.

Familiar indeed. Jet patiently waited each interim ignoring the barrage of half muttered cursing. Oooohhhh Spike was surly alright! Not surprising, in his pocket, Jet had his next dose of medications all ready to go. No doubt that Spike would be needing the pain meds after the transfer from the hospital. It was rather his fault he hadn't waited for the timing to cover that instead of like now, when the next dose was due.

It hadn't been a far cab ride, but there was no way he was going to cram Spike into one of the monocrafts. Granted, that meant a bit of a longer walk from the dock itself.

“Sonofa—” Spike hissed.

Pausing, Jet glanced to the side watching the wave of pain pinch his features. “Thought you said you were ready.”

He glared through the top of his eyes. “I am.” The next few seconds were a panting fest Ein would have been proud of. “Just need to get to the couch.”

“Waitin' on your move pard.”

His fingers dug into Jet's shoulder as he summoned the next step. He was walking, barely. At the minimal amount of muscle required Spike had forced it to happen yesterday only to be livid when he discovered he needed another overnight stay because he'd been too exhausted to stay awake. Jet just rolled his eyes. Of course he couldn't leave exhausted as he'd been. But there'd been no telling Spike that.

Halfway down the first set of steps to the platform, all forward momentum ceased. Jet leaned forward. “You need to sit down for a bit.”

“No.” He panted, hanging a bit more precariously. “I just need to … get down there … ”

Resisting the urge to tap his foot, Jet remained there, waiting for Spike to stop trembling enough to move of his own accord. Down on the chair, Ein lifted his head and gave a squeaky yawn. No one else bore witness. Faye had taken Ed on a grocery run, a decision they both felt was wise knowing how likely Ed would be to excitedly bear hug Spike. As it was the poor guy was suffering from his own stupidity, he didn't need the uber affection to add to the discomfort.

Once he was settled in things would be ok. That became Jet's silent mantra.

Slowly, Spike managed the next stair. One step closer. At that rate this could take all day.

The weight on Jet's shoulder suddenly increased. He wasn't surprised. Bracing himself he let Spike hang there for a few breaths. No point in asking him. The damnable pride would win out every time. Unless he passed out, he'd refuse to let Jet carry him.

Averting his eyes, Jet idly counted the rotations of the fan overhead. It was arbitrary as Spike managed each stair down to the living room floor. Between gasped breaths he laughed. “I … made … it … ”

His knees gave out completely, his body collapsing like a house of cards. As his eyes clamped shut Jet knew they'd reach the breaking point. Patting Spike's shoulder he knew it was time. “No one else will know.” Carefully he shifted Spike into his arms, picking him up. Spike's efforts to resist were minimal, his head resting against Jet's shoulder, eyes closed as he continued to tremble. “You made it pretty far, pard.” Spike had put up a damn good fight—but the truth was, it was time for him to rest.

Now the going was much quicker as he passed right by the couch and entered the hall to their quarters, Ein's claws clicked on the floor at his side. He had never expected Spike to make it all the way to his old room. He had expected an argument over why they were passing the couch. But Spike wasn't even watching. Once settled in his arms, he wasn't even that heavy. Not the lightest he'd been—no, that mark belonged to the condition he'd come out of the Pluto prison, Quidlivun Cavus. Tortured, severely malnourished, and ill he had been in worse physical shape then. But gripping Spike's shoulder now he realized it wasn't too far off. He had a long way to come back from.

In time. All in due time.

Passing through the hatch to Spike's room he carefully laid him out on the bunk. As he pulled off his shoes and reached down to grab the blanket he'd left at the foot of the bed—knowing that would be too much to fuss with, he found Spike's eyes cracked open, watching him. “You're ok, kid.”

“Not … a … kid …” He hardly even looked around. To be honest Jet wasn't sure he knew he was in his own bunk. He just breathed forcefully as if he'd been on a chase or something.

“You're hurting, aren't you.” He eyed Spike. “Be honest.”

There wasn't a verbal response, but the wince said it all.

Grabbing the thermos he'd set in there ahead of time he pulled out the pill bottle and emptied the over half dozen various pills into his hand, Spike was on quite the cocktail. “Figured you would be. Here you go. Let's get on top of this and stay there.”

With a trembling hand, Spike took the offered pills, not one argument, and popped them into his mouth swallowing them with a large mouthful of water from the thermos. Resting his head against the pillow, his right hand flexed a bit in the cast.

“Hey,” Jet pointed to the sling, “you still want that?”

Slowly, he nodded, his eyes closing from sheer exhaustion. As per usual he'd overdone it.

That was all the answer he needed. Standing up, Jet leaned against the hatch's frame turning the light low. Spike was home again. If he'd noticed that his room had been cleared out, he hadn't indicated it by any means. If he noticed he was even in his room, he hadn't indicated it. In a way that seemed like a blessing, extra fussing burned up energy he needed for healing. But deep down it bothered Jet. He'd expected some kind of push back. A snide remark. A response. Something.

Instead he got his ol' partner sinking down into his bunk as swiftly as the lights going out. Ein padded up to the bunk, placed his paws on the edge and pulled his front half up so he could get eye-to-eye. Wasn't much of a point, Spike was out cold, his breathing already sunk down. That wasn't the meds, it was too soon for that, this was simply the toll he paid for being a stubborn lunkhead.

_And so, it starts. Our long watch._

In place of the liquor storage, Jet had left a couple boxes of supplies they would need on hand. Gauze and antibiotic ointment for bandage changes.

He let a breath out and waved to Ein, “Come on, he'll be sleeping for a while. I'll leave the door open in case.”

The answer was a click of the claws as Ein launched himself onto the bed and settled down on the blanket beside Spike with a huff. The look on the dog's eyes said it all. He wasn't leaving.

“Heh, ok. Keep an eye on him for me, then.”

“Woof.”

Shambling down the hall, he heaved a sigh, shoulders sagging. “Now the hard part begins.”

* * *

“Edward! Don't just take one box, get back here!” Faye's irate shouting echoed off the hanger's walls.

“Hahahahaha!” Ed couldn't be bothered, she was excited as she danced through the open hatch, balancing a box of Cup of Noodles on her head. That seemed like a staple food on the ship. Granted there was quite a bit more foodstuffs in the Red Tail, but Ed bolted down the steps and leapt into an aerial somersault. She released the box and let it thump on the table mid turn before uncoiling and landing on the couch.

_Wait. The couch?_ She bounced up and down, a finger in her mouth. “Where's Spike-person?”

Grunting, Faye stomped through the hatch burdened with a stack of boxes. “Probably in his quarters. Remember? You helped Jet clean that up for him.”

Instantly she brightened, “Oh yeah!”

Dropping the boxes on the table she planted her hands on her hips. “And this is one of those reasons why. If Spike had actually been there you could have hurt him. Did you even think of that?”

“Eeeehheeeehehe!” Leaping off the couch, Ed's bare feet pounded down the hall. “Spiiiiiikkkkkkeeeee's back!”

The clack of Faye's heels followed her in hot pursuit. “Damn it! He needs things to be quiet! Get back here and help me unload the groceries! Ed!”

Oh, she heard her, but that didn't slow her down one bit. Spike was home, everyone was back. Their family was complete. Her joy could not be contained by any force in the system. She tore around the corner and came to a screeching halt in Spike's open doorway, about to unleash one of her patented shrieks when she sucked on a forefinger instead, cocking her head.

Snoring echoed in the room. Not one set, but two. Spike lay on his left side tucked under a blanket in the dimly lit room. On the blanket Ein snuggled against his chest, his nose by Spike's forehead. Every snore from Spike stirred his fur. Both were sound asleep. Up on the shelf where the books were neatly stacked, the light caught on the metallic feathers, Shuĭ perched there. Slowly his eyes opened and he turned his narrow head her way offering a soft peep.

Faye dashed up behind her about to berate her when she looked into the room. She whispered, “He's really back.”

“Ein's guarding his dreams.” Ed giggled into her hand. “He's a good boy.”

“They both are.” Faye lowered her head. “Come on, kid, Spike's probably worn out. How about we make him something special in the kitchen with the stuff we got.”

She clapped her hands. “Ed gets to cook?”

“Mmmm hmmm.”

“Aaaaheeeee! Yaya!” Off she dashed to the kitchen with visions of cupcakes dancing in her head.

* * *

Jet awoke with a start. He hadn't intended to fall asleep in the cockpit on the bridge. Weird, he must have been more worn out than he thought. Not ultimately shocking. He hadn't been sleeping well. The trips out with Faye had been a nice relief, but it wasn't a solution to the ultimate problem that still weighed heavy on his mind. Pulling out a cigarette he was about to light it.

Something smelled off. Something was … burning? Sitting up with a start he leapt out of the cockpit tearing down the stairs and making a beeline for the galley—the source of the smell. That was not cigarettes! His ship was burning!

“What the … what happened?” It looked like a cake had thrown up all over the galley. And not just that, all over Faye and Ed as well.

Flour, eggshells, copious amounts of chocolate syrup clung to absolutely everything—even the exposed ceiling pipes.

As Ed danced around flinging gobs of batter against the walls, Faye opened the oven and waved the smoke away. “Ed! How did this get turned up to 450?”

“Cook faster!”

“Oh God, this is … puhh, completely ruined.”

Jet leaned against the doorway, scowling the moment Faye met his eyes.

“Oh hey.” She tried to hide the charred remnant in the pan, which of course was impossible.

“What did you think you were doing?”

Ed bounced up to him and swung onto his back, batter covered hands smearing a mess on his jumpsuit. “Ed and Faye-Faye were making a Spike welcome back cake!”

He said nothing and just glared at the burnt offering.

Wilting a bit, Faye set the once-cake-now-charcoal-briquette on the stove. “It ummm … well, it's been a while since I baked from scratch.” Taking off the oven mitt she held it up and blushed as she eyed the mess like a guilty dog.

Releasing a sigh he grabbed Ed and Faye by their arms. “Let's get this cleaned up. Then we can do this right.”

Ed licked the batter from her finger. “We're gonna make a cake?”

“Instead of a mess.” Jet eyed them. Well, their hearts had been in the right place. He opened up the oven door to a fresh cloud of smoke and his stomach bottomed out. “Who dumped a pan of batter in the oven?” That was no longer batter—but a series of charred piles smoldering in the oven. It looked like a glowing hell scape.

When he turned around, he discovered an empty kitchen. Jet buried his face in his hands. “Typical.”


	36. Session 36

_ **Session 36** _

The screen flickered behind her, casting intermittent light in her room as Faye sat on her bunk watching the polish dry on her nails. Or rather staring at it overlong … it had been dry for well over an hour. But she sat wreathed in the dim light, the soundtrack of the random show in the background almost like static.

Days had passed now. Days with the crew reunited. It wasn't at all how she thought it would be. The heavy concern remained inescapable. Her eyes wandered to the clock. It was almost time for her turn. She couldn't help but look at the wall in the direction of his room. Something wasn't right and it haunted her.

On the first day it made sense. The second was mildly excusable. She hugged herself tighter. The longer this went on the more it weighed down her thoughts. The silence was killing her.

Slowly she walked out of her room and down the hall to the snip of a branch. There was no doubt in her mind what she would find. This is where he'd been every time.

Completely absorbed in the task, Jet tended to his bonsai trees with an obsession verging on compulsion. A cigarette hung from his lips. He didn't even glance up as she darkened the door frame.

She cleared her throat. “Uh Jet … ”

Tonelessly he replied, “It's almost time for his bandage change. Let me know if he needs a trip to the toilet, I'll help him get there. Don't want to embarrass the guy. Remember to give him every pill I loaded in the dose bottle.”

Her fingers tightened on her elbow. “It's not that. I have the routine down. It's not like this is my first time tending to Spike … it's just that … have you noticed? “ _How to put it_ … “Since they released him from the hospital he's been … I mean … there he actually was joking around a bit, he was working his ass off to be able to get up and leave his bed.” She bit her lip and gazed down the hall toward his room. “Here, he's not the same. He's not thriving. He's … he barely wakes up. Something is wrong.”

Jet's grip on the cutters tightened as he held onto the branch, pulling it back severely. “Don't forget to give him _every_ pill.”

That reaction startled her. She took a step into the room. “Don't you find that odd?”

He stiffened, narrowing his eyes, but refused to answer. The tension enough to snap the man.

Inhaling the damp air of the plant incubation room, tears teased the corners of her eyes. “Jet, haven't you asked yourself why?”

“I don't have to.” He cut the branch and threw it on the floor, his eyes deadlocked on the blades of the cutters.

“Maybe one of the doses of his meds is off. He should be up, he should be talking to us, he should be awake more than a half hour at a time!”

“He's fine. Drop it, Faye.” Snip.

She shook her head. “He's _never_ been like this. There has to be a reason he's so rundown.”

“Maybe … ” he muttered just above his breath, “someone is slipping him a sedative.”

Instantly her breath locked in her chest. “A sedative? Jet! What the fu—”

“It's part of the cocktail they prescribed for him. I know what to watch for, when to start tapering it off.”

“He can't even function.” She flung her hands wide. “He'd be humiliated by this!”

Slamming his hands on the counter, Jet nearly knocked the the bonsai off as he rounded on her with a full-throated shout, “More humiliated than being locked in a psych ward's padded room confined to a straight jacket for the rest of his life?”

Forced to stumble backward at the image, she stuttered. “Bu—but what do you mean … Jet that doesn't mak—”

He swiped the air with a hand, anger burning in his eyes. “This is what is best for him right now!”

“We can't keep doing this to him. He needs to know.”

“And have him fight us over this? No—don't you dare tell him!”

The revelation tightened Faye's throat. “You haven't told him?”

He growled. “I haven't, with good reason.”

Watching Jet now she knew without a doubt _this_ was why he'd been so tense. This silent burden carried since … “When … when did you learn this?”

“The day Damian first spoke with us. He sensed it moments after meeting Spike.” Jet's raised voice cracked as he clawed at the air. “Thanks to Morpheus, Spike's a ticking time bomb. He's an absolute wreck. The medical team discussed everything at length and determined the only way through this to even give him a chance to stabilize was to let his body heal first.”

“First?” That sounded ominous. “What do you mean first?”

Planting his hands on the shelf he shook his head, though his voice lowered the intensity didn't. “After his physical wounds heal we need to face the harder ones to reach.”

She held her breath for a long moment at the look of defeat in Jet's posture.

He pulled out his cigarette and stubbed it out in an ashtray, not looking up. Silently he pointed to his head.

That was all the answer she needed. “Jet … it can't be that serious. He's been beaten to all hell before and come out just fine.”

“Not like this.” His head sunk lower. “At the moment he's far more fragile than he'd ever acknowledge, and that's the problem. Shit Faye, I've been drugging my best friend without his knowledge. Consider what it would take for me to pull that.”

“And keep that to yourself. Oh God, Jet, why was this essential?”

“You know Spike's temper, his killer abilities. Imagine if he lost his shit and that incision wasn't all the way healed. He could bleed to death in minutes. I can't take that chance.” He turned to her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Please. Just keep up the act. I've been telling him that one of the side-effects of the meds makes him sleepy.”

“That's an understatement.” She bowed her head. “What if he gets hit by one of his nightmares? You know, the bad ones he refuses to tell us about.”

“Won't happen.” His grip tightened. “They accounted for that, the sedative has been calibrated to drag him down beyond dreams. As for why in the hospital that wasn't essential—primed in his IV they had an _off switch_ , more or less. Something that if he did go off, they could drop him in a few heartbeats. Yes Faye, it's that serious. Spike's only hope at recovery is making sure he can't hurt himself in the process.”

“I … I understand.” She took a step back as his hands fell to his sides. “I don't like it … but I … understand.” The phrase _tough_ _love_ came to mind.

Slumping back down on the bench he didn't look up as he muttered, “Don't ask me which of the pills is the sedative. I won't tell you. There's a reason I reload the pill bottle with his current meds as I have been.”

The weight of it all rested on him, even still. Slowly Faye wandered down the hall and into Spike's room. Everything was there, all set and ready to go from Jet's last shift on this. She had to swallow the guilt. Somehow through all the shouting, Spike was still sleeping.

Gently she touched his arm above the cast and waited for him to stir before speaking softly, “Hey, sorry to wake you up, but it's time for a bandage change.”

His eyes opened, dilated. Now that she knew the truth that made more sense. He still looked pretty out of it … the constant state he'd been in since returning to the ship.

“Feeling any better?” She laid out the supplies, giving him a chance to wake up a bit more, not that it would help much. He didn't respond, he just lay there listlessly not even watching her pull out a fresh bandage. She couldn't be certain his eyes focused enough to be able see anything in detail.

Forcing a smile, she pulled the blanket down and shifted him onto his back, guiding the casted arm out of the way. Tugging the shirt up exposed the bandaging. “Ok, let's make short work of this shall we.”

As she unwrapped the binding he vaguely followed her motions, but it was so easy to lose him, leave him blinking slowly into the distance. At last the end of the wrap slipped away to reveal the large gauze pad up against the wound. Carefully she took the corner and worked it back, wary of the sutures.

Spike's abdomen jerked backward, and he issued a hissing cry as one of them tugged, stuck on the gauze.

“Sorry. I thought I was going slow enough.” She teased it from the fibers.

“S—s'ok.” That was the part that really bothered her. How slurred his speech was. Nothing came out clear. Sometimes he would just mutter unintelligibly. At the moment he just laid his head back, eyes barely watching. His cybernetic one … it was dilated too.

_Damn it Jet, they're seriously burying him._ Taking a sterilizing cloth, she braced herself as she was forced to take in the incision. The large inverted V a bit below his ribs held together by more sutures than she cared to count. That's why this part was so critical. Jet's warning plagued her, if this bled there'd be no time to stop it. And Spike wasn't know for being cautious when wounded.

Luckily the flesh remained healthy. Not a sign of any discharge or serious discoloring. The excess warmth was merely from an increase in healing blood flow. A lot of the bruising she had witnessed early on in the hospital had faded by now. Other than how deeply his gut sunk in each breath due to wasted muscles, this was looking better. But that mark had a low bar starting point in her memory.

“You know, this is looking pretty good. It'll be healed in no time.” She lied through her teeth as she cleansed it. The fact was, that scar was hideous. And it wasn't going away any time soon. Even healed **that** was going to be a serious blemish. How many scars had he erased over time? Thinking back to the horrific events in Somnus it struck her just how violent of a life he had led. With how many scars he had removed from just bounty runs … how riddled would his skin be now if he hadn't?

Spike flinched a bit, but other than the occasional accidental snag on her part he didn't shift much. Just lay there slack against his pillow.

“Almost done.” She forced the corners of her lips up in a smile as she carefully redressed the wound, slow passes, wrapping around his gut as she had temporarily wedged him up a bit. Settling him back down she reassured him, “I'll be right back. Just going to throw this out and get your food.”

As she looked up she spied Ed's hand reaching around the door with a Cup of Noodles in her hand. The tab already pulled and steam escaping the popped top. With a whisper she took the cup, “Trade you, Ed.” She handed over the bandages which promptly vanished to the patter of bare feet.

Kneeling back down, she painstakingly fed him. As had been the case since coming home, Spike showed only minimal interest in each mouthful. If she paused too long he nearly nodded off. A quick coaxing and she'd have him back again. But it was hard won to get the cup empty.

After that was done she held up his sling and gave him a questioning look.

Spike stared at it for a few moments before murmuring, “No thanks.” It wasn't clear at all, and almost sounded like one word.

“Are you sure you don't have to go?”

Awkwardly he nodded. “I'm fine.” He winced, his good hand shifting toward his gut.

That was a clear sign. Faye picked up the pill bottle loaded with his next dose. The pills rattled as she emptied it into her hand. One of them … she stared, one of them was the culprit. But the fear in Jet's eyes plagued her. For weeks he had kept that horrible secret knowing that once Spike came back this was his temporary fate. The guilt now weighed on her too.

Spike's dilated eyes searched the room, struggling to find her. A silent plea in them. No—he needed this.

She held out the pills and put them into Spike's hand. Holding the thermos as he washed them down. The stubbornly independent man that was once able to to do so much, now unable to even feed himself. Running her hand through his hair she tried to sooth him, he was trembling. “Give it a bit, the pain meds will kick back in. I'm so sorry … ” it caught in her throat for a moment, “ … some of them make you drowsy, don't they.”

His right hand flexed in the cast. She followed his gaze. Up on the shelf the edge of poker chip peeked over. By the time she looked back down, Spike's eyes had closed, his breathing already deepening.

Only then did she allow a single tear to escape her eye. _I'm sorry, Spike. This isn't right. But you have to forgive us. We're just looking out for you. This is gonna be a longer road than any of us imagined … but we're gonna get you back. All of you._

* * *

_Fuck, what am I doing? I'm ruining it._ Jet slammed the cutters down and removed his gloves, pushing aside the little tree. He set his head in his hands and tried not to listen. 

These days the ship was quiet—too quiet. Even Ed seemed to catch the clue and had been keeping to herself. Somewhere deep in the ship the slow drip of a leak echoed, joining the wash of the waves against the ship's hull. 

It was the voices that haunted him, that squeezed his eyes shut. Spike's quarters weren't too far away and Faye's words reached his ears even as he tried not to listen.

Yes, this betrayal was horribly wrong, deep in his gut he knew it wouldn't be long before he'd have to answer for it. That made no difference. He'd never found a way to phrase it. So, he sought refuge here, in the leaves, in the patterns, in the voiceless bonsai. In the only place he felt he might have some fleeting sense of control—and even here the discord reached him.

Sound carried through the air vent. Spike's snoring, any muttering he might do in his sleep, which at this point wasn't much he'd only heard the odd complaint when Spike had shifted between bandage changes. And that had been rare. Now he listened to Faye … heard the forced smile in her voice as she joined in the deception. She knowingly lied to him.

_It's the right thing. It's the only way to give him a chance. Not even he can face it all at once. This wasn't my decision, a whole team talked about this, about what could happen … about …_

His hand brushed his pocket, the heavy weigth still there, waiting. He bowed his head even further. If he didn't get a good night sleep soon he'd be the one going crazy. But it hadn't come. Night after he lay in his bed counting the interval of each of Spike's breaths to mark if they were even, if they were shallower. 

He beat a fist against the table.  _Why do I have to do this? Why Morpheus? Why did you do this to us? What did you hope to gain? Why couldn't you have let us go?_

Instead, down the hall Spike was like a train wreck dangling over the edge, threatening to fall. There had to be a way to haul it back from the edge. There just had to be some way to prevent him from self-destructing.

The sound of footsteps, heels against the floor. The tap of the pill bottle on the table beside his hand. “It's done.” Faye's voice lacked enthusiasm. “Eight hours til your turn.”

He sighed, unable to lift his head. “Thank you.”

She lingered at the door. “You better be ready for the backlash when he finds out. It's just going to add to the shit storm that's coming when he learns about everything else.”

“I know.”

“So, how are you going to handle.”

He didn't have an answer … and the bonsai weren't talking. 


	37. Session 37

_ **Session 37** _

The sorrowful melody of the band shrouded the Cobalt Cat Bar. Every breath was filled with second hand smoke. Jet took a long draw off his black and tan, savoring the night away from the ship. In the first week since Spike'd come back home they'd resisted leaving even briefly, or at least he hadn't wanted to leave Spike unmonitored for fear the sedatives would fail. But dose after dose proved effective as clockwork dragging him down into a listless mire. Today left Jet and Faye with plenty of time for a well-needed breather. He glanced at his watch. They had six hours before Spike would even begin to stir. Ed knew to leave him alone—besides, he'd left Ein on guard duty.

At the table, Faye's eyes half closed as she ran her finger around the top of a shot glass, half of a tequila sunrise remaining.

Jet secretly cherished her company here. Silently he thanked her for suggesting they get away for a bit. The somber saxophone played by a long haired, sun glass wearing beatnik reached into his soul and temporarily eased the tension pulling his perpetual frown. At least he felt a little more neutral now.

“Mmm, now that man sure can blow.” Faye's polished nail caught the low neon light as she ran her finger along the rim. “Have you ever heard anything that sentimental before?”

Taking a gulp of the brew he leaned back in his chair. “Only once, and it's been a while. Kid on a blue's harp.”

“Wen.” She muttered absently.

“Now there was a boy who understood the ravages of time. Shame how it ended. But at least Spike nailed that shot. Trust him to come through when it counts.” His throat tightened at that thought. He took another gulp to loosen things up.

Faye downed the rest of her shot and glanced his way. “It's not over. That stubborn ass will be back. You know he will.”

He closed his eyes and tried to believe her, but the lump in his gut sunk deeper. “Shit, it's been a while since we scored a bounty. Think about it, not since before we stumbled on Somnus.”

“We still have the funds from saving Europa.”

“Yeah … about those.” He glanced at her before looking back into his layered beer. “Fact is our collective medical bills have taken a rather substantial chunk out of it. We're not in the hole yet … but … at this point we won't be leaving Mars anytime soon.”

Somehow she didn't look surprised as she waved to the waitress for a refill. “Well, you know what that means. Time to get back in the saddle, cowboy.”

“Don't know if I can.”

“Of course you can. Let's see what's on the menu.” She cocked a half grin. Pulling out her phone she flipped through a few images before pausing and glancing up with narrowed eyes. “What do we have here? A nice slab of beef.” She picked up her refilled tequila sunrise and subtly pointed a single finger to a man sitting alone two tables over in a wrinkled trench coat, a scar running down his cheek. She held up her screen and showed the bounty notice.

Carl Sheg had a two-million woolong reward, and he was sitting there ripe for the picking.

She leaned in close to Jet. “Come on, Black Dog, you know you want something to sink your teeth into. How about we make a run for a fresh bounty?”

He heaved a sigh, taking another gulp of his drink and setting the pint glass down. “I dunno, not in here. It's too nice to cause a ruckus in here. I'm growing to like this place. Besides, I kind of want to just take it easy tonight.”

“Mmm hmm.” She gestured with her pinky, offering a knowing smile. “Why you making a fist, then?”

“Tch!” Swiftly he tucked his hands under the table, but it was too late. She'd spotted the evidence. Facts were facts. Because of Spike's condition they were stuck on Mars for the time being, money shortage or not. As they were going now they wouldn't have fuel money by that time. He shook his head.

Damn it. They needed the dough.

Once more he took in the file as Faye's nails tapped the screen. This guy was a brawler, wanted for multiple bar fights causing an impressive total of collateral damage. At the last one he had permanently injured the bartender, she'd needed a replacement leg. Sure, they couldn't kill Carl to get the bounty—but that didn't mean they couldn't tenderize him.

Jet's lip curled, itching for the fight. But not here. Not in the club. He downed the rest of his drink and slammed the pint glass down. “Fine, you want to reel this small fry in? Let's do it. Meet you outside.”

Faye pulled out some lipstick and refreshed it. “Now we're talking. Feeling kind of good to get back in the groove.”

They both dropped their payment on the table and as Faye drifted off to Carl's table, Jet wandered outside with a fresh cigarette in his hand. Out in the cool night air he leaned against the side of the building and puffed away, staring up at the stars as he waited. This part was all Faye. He knew she loved this role, savoring every second. She would take her own sweet time.

He stubbed the butt of the cigarette on the heel of his shoe before the door opened to Faye's carefree laughter. “Oh, I just can't believe how lucky I am to have found you here tonight.”

Carl glanced down at her hand on the center of his chest as they walked out into the night. “Angel, I'm gonna show you the night of your life.”

Leaning in closer, she smiled. “You sure will, you big lug you.”

Captivated, Carl's vision remained locked on her so firmly he didn't catch Jet's metal fist until it hooked his jaw.

Nimbly, Faye stepped out of the way as Carl executed a sloppy pirouette before flopping to the ground.

Jet stood over the bounty head as Carl collected his wits and glanced up in shock.

“Whoa, hey … this angel belong to you buddy? I didn't know!”

She smirked. “Oh we're partners, Carl.”

Jet cracked his knuckles. “But not _that_ kind of partner. You got quite a price on your head.”

Faye studied her nails. “And baby needs fuel money.”

His complexion flushed and he scrambled to get his feet under him. Faye's heel stabbing on his hand stopped that effort. As he wailed out in pain, Jet drew back his fist. “Go on, resist.”

“Ahhh! Oooooofffff!” Out like a light under the double fist he lay limp on the concrete.

“Well now, looks like we still have it.” She grinned as Jet hefted the body up onto his shoulder. “Hmmm, men are such gullible fools. All of them believe they are the universe's gift to all women at the flash of an eye. I could get to like this ambush.”

“Maybe next time I'll lure the target out and you can nail him to the floor.”

She laughed and eyed him up and down. “Well, to the right woman you could be quite the catch.”

Jet shifted the body to hide the heat rising to his cheeks. “Let's go collect the bounty, _Angel_. Sheesh!”

* * *

Everything laid out, Jet looked at the screen one more time to be certain he had read it right. No doubt about what the scan showed, and he had enough time if he hurried.

The clack of Faye's heels down the hall punctuated the time ticking in a slow passage. So, she'd returned from her errand. “Jet? Hey Jet, where are you at?”

Around his cigarette he called out, “In here.”

The clacks got closer as she came around the door, holding up her card. “Well, that mark was a cake walk. Didn't even break a sweat.” In her other hand she sported her faux lipstick container. “My lovely little all-purpose lady's best friend sure comes in handy. Sucker.” She must've used the potent dose of knockout gas it held in reserve.

Jet grunted as he picked the tool up off the floor, adjusting it. “Good.”

“That guy had a decent bounty too.” She paused, leaning forward. “Jet … is that a saw?”

“Mmm hmm.”

The lipstick container rattled on the floor as her voice rose in alarm. “What are you doing with a power saw in Spike's room?”

Gripping Spike's cast in one hand and positioning the portable circular saw with his other he remarked dryly, “Time for this to go.”

“You're not cutting his arm off!”

“Just the cast. The portable scan showed the bone is fully fused. The cast is now outstaying its welcome.”

Her hand flailed in the air. “That's just a regular saw, not a medical one!”

“Relax, I'll be careful.” The blade whined as it spun up.

“Jeez! Move over and let me hold his arm still.”

“Spike'll be out for another hour. He won't even twitch.”

She knelt down and grabbed onto the cast, glaring at Jet. “Not the point. You want to leave him healing from a massive saw blade gash? Wait, is that a metal rip saw?”

It was the first one he'd tripped across in his search. He half hooded his eyes. “Just hold his arm still. I got this. Besides, I thought you were feeling guilty about the drugs. This means we can back off on those.”

With Faye holding the arm as it hung over the side of the bunk, the blade dug into the soft material kicking dust up everywhere. Spike didn't so much as take a breath out of sink. Faye gritted her teeth, sweat dripping down her forehead. Inch by inch the edge of the circular blade walked a line down the plaster cast guided by Jet's expert precision. One side, then the other.

He set the saw aside and cracked the cast open.

A foul odor filled the small enclosed room, instantly Faye covered her nose with both hands, Jet rammed his forearm against his smashing the nostrils closed. He'd been expecting it not to smell of roses. Over two solid months of being closed off to air, Spike's skin had want of a serious cleaning.

That was precisely why Jet had brought in a bowl of warm water, soap, and a towel.

“Oh my God!” Faye gasped. “That smells like an old gym sock that's been in a bag for like … gah … a decade!”

Over the worst of it, Jet wrung out the cloth and ran it down the thin limb. Held in one position for that long this limb had experienced the worst of the wasting. It was a mere twig, over an inch less circumference than his other arm, but the bone was healed now. That had been worth it. He could get the strength back over time. The skin was ultra pale, delicate, flaking. “Hey Faye, we're gonna need some moisturizer here.” That was the one thing he hadn't thought of.

Still pinching her nose she shook her head. “I don't have anything powerful enough to combat that … but let me see what I do have.”

Left to his task, Jet carefully worked the soap into a lather wondering if when Spike woke he would be able to move the stiff elbow at all. Even in his hands, he had to put an effort into straightening the joint, it wanted to stay as it had been, the tendons tight as hell. Probably would be the charlie horse of the century if Spike were awake. At least the odor was weaker now, the soap countering it as the air filter sucked it away. Jet repeated the washing a couple times before Faye returned with a bottle of thick cream.

“Here, this is the strongest moisturizer I have. Hope he doesn't mind smelling like daisies. Far better than he smells right now.”

Drying the arm with the towel, Jet remarked, “He can't take a full shower til all the stitches dissolve. I've plucked a few of the remnants out, the loose ones. But there's a number to go yet.”

Jet reached for the bottle, but Faye held fast to it, eyeing him. “No way. Move over. You can't just glop this on, it's expensive!”

“Fine.” He gathered up the saw and the wash bowl and scooted out of the way.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Faye placed five evenly spaced tiny dollops on Spike's arm and began to massage it in. Her brow furrowed as she worked it in around his elbow, but she didn't remark. Instead her fingers pressed harder in small circles.

Jet realized she was legit massaging the tendons. Well, that would help.

Ten minutes in, she added more of the cream in a more generous quantity working up and down the limb as Spike lay there drugged all to hell.

Would he have enjoyed this? Or would he have smacked Faye?

Jet did a double take, in the brighter light he had turned up for the process of ensuring he didn't amputate the limb, there was a glint off Spike's cracked open eye. Inhaling slowly Jet glanced at the clock—that final hour had passed far swifter then he had anticipated. “Ummm Faye … ” he tried to interrupt her.

“Hrmmm, there's quite a knot here.” She worked her fingers near the elbow, chuckling a bit as Spike's limp hand flopped with the motions. “So limp, I mean it takes next to nothing to move it like a dead fish.”

Spike's dilated eyes stared out at it as Faye remained oblivious she was being somewhat watched.

Covering his face Jet muttered, “You might want to be a bit careful.”

“He can't feel anything.”

“Actually … ” Spike muttered with a drugged slurring, “I can.”

Instantly she froze and grimaced. “Oh … shit … um …” forcing a smile, “hey Spike. Look, your cast is off.”

His eyes shifted clumsily, overshooting the limb in her hands before settling back on it. “Yeah … kinda got that.” Every phrase took forever to get out and the word breaks were wrong. It took a moment to sort out what he was getting at. “What're you doing?”

Faye quickly hid the daisy decorated bottle and offered him a nervous smile. “Checking to see if it's healed.”

Covering his eyes Jet groaned before peering between his fingers.

Spike blinked slowly. “Ummmm kay.” That did not sound convinced. He tried to straighten the limb and hissed, his other hand gripping the now exposed elbow.

Moving in closer, Jet waved a finger at him. “That's going to be stiff for a bit. You're going to have be careful with it. Work it slowly.”

Not even for a second did he back off. With the use of his stronger hand against the forearm Spike forced the elbow to straighten with a fair amount of wincing and hissing to the sound of tendons popping. He hardly looked pleased with the result as the moment he let go the stiff joint drifted back to bent. It looked like an un-oiled hinge. With a grunt he let the whole limb fall to the edge of the bunk.

In unison Jet and Faye locked eyes. That told the whole story. But still, it was the first marker to start backing off the meds now. And that action right there worried him.

A Spike capable of anything would try to do everything.

Still, Jet forced a smile. “I'll just go get his dinner.” He plucked up the pill bottle and shook his head. Damn it, a blessing and a bane. Spike would start being less of a shiftless slug and more of a … nuisance. He wasn't sure he was ready for this.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [End of Watch 9/3/2073](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27354643) by [Luck_Kazajian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luck_Kazajian/pseuds/Luck_Kazajian)




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